Of Madness
by puzzlepuzzle
Summary: Trapped in the aftermath of his victory, Finnick Odair makes his choice to live, lest his siblings pay for a death that he would prefer. But his smile is growing thin and he finds that mad little Annie Cresta may be the cleverest of them all.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hunger Games. R&R please.**

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

He lies there, slumped in the damp, stained silk sheets, near-faint with exhaustion and his body tense and sore from the hours of strain.

His patron today has paid a fortune to book his weekend, and he wonders what the hour is now. They seem to have been holed up in here for far longer than he can bear, and that is saying much when Finnick Odair has learnt to tolerate so many things.

His patron is licking at him with her forked tongue, the result of some twisted Capitol fashion from last month that she undoubtedly got stuck with. This is the first time they've met—she's a first-time patron. She isn't unattractive per se, as most Capitol women are, even if plenty look arguably freakish to him. Still, she and most have figures that they pay to maintain at all costs, even if they do all sorts of silly things like altering their skin tones or eyes or have cat whiskers put into their cheeks.

He decides that she is worth pandering to. She did pay a record sum for him, after all, and there's more of that where it's come from. Also, talking to her will give him a little more time to rest before he's expected to rattle the bed posts again.

He inserts a soft, suggestive tone into his voice—the sort that tends to persuade his patrons into doing insane things to please him. "I like your tongue."

"Do you?" She says appreciatively, and she flickers it at him.

He stares at it in disturbed fascination. Why do these Capitol women think that looking like animals is the way forward? He once had a patron who'd had too many whiskers in her cheeks— it had taken all his effort not to shake with laughter when she'd tried to give him head. The funniest thing is that they all want him because they find him so natural. But they all want him to like them back and thus add on more artifice to make themselves more attractive. It drives the difference between him and them to a point of bitter irony.

This client is almost as ridiculous as the cat-styled patron with what must have been a painful alteration— she's running her long nails and fingers in his hair, whispering that he was born a God.

"Me, a God, when you are gracing this entire place with your presence?" He laughs gratuitously, hiding his sarcasm. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course." She is sliding away the sheets and slithering up his waist, ignoring how spent they both really are. She probably wants value for money, since she paid a great deal. Even though he left her gasping and exhausted just minutes ago, the reminder of the fortune that she paid to be here is making her hungry again. And of course, he must comply, or Snow will hear of this. She leans her head on his hipbone, tracing the hard ridges and sighing. "You are so beautiful. You are the only one who's good enough."

If only his patrons here knew that his mother had been arguably plain, and that his father had died somehow waxy and wasted with only the merest suggestion of eroded youth and vitality. His parents were certainly not Gods—or they wouldn't have struggled as fishermen despite having their uncanny talents for life near the seas of District Four.

But Finnick, for all his humble origins, has been told that he is a looker. If he is doing anything that requires clothes at all, he is supplied with fancy Capitol fashion and high-quality textiles from District Eight. It's been three years since he's won the Games, and since then, he has been with hundreds and told that he belongs in the Capitol.

He is being told that even now.

Clearly, that is why he spends his days and nights the way that he does, even if he would rather be left alone. When he'd been interviewed after being crowned the Victor, he'd expressed his wish to go back to District Four with the winnings. He hadn't really expected to be held in the Capitol after that.

But since then, Finnick knows why the silver parachute with the tridents came. Swords or knives would have sufficed; the silver trident was given precisely because the patrons thought that he was the perfect embodiment of an ancient sea god Poseidon. It sickened Finnick the first time when one patron had called him that and explained how Poseidon had been known to be virile and an insatiable lover. Now wonder this place that Snow sets him up in is sea-themed. It makes Finnick all the more exotic, and his patrons like that. He has this place within a casino at the outskirts of the Capitol, and after each auction, he is holed up in here for days at an end.

He doesn't curse his face and form though; if he hadn't had his looks, he wouldn't have caught the viewers' attention and admiration. He wouldn't have had so many sponsors, even if many of those eventually became patrons forced upon him. They wouldn't have sent him that silver parachute that paved his road to survival—even if it was littered with perforated, impaled, limp forms. Even now, he has a firm belief that human bodies are the most reminiscent of fishes when those are lifeless.

For now, Finnick Odair has chosen to live, and if he must live, he won't regret the day when he decided that death was too common and undistinguished a choice for him.

He has earned him adoration, no matter how fickle it is. In the early days, the fear of having his younger siblings killed made him eager to satisfy patrons. But those left too satisfied and took him for granted. Some were rough; some left him with bruises that needed attention for weeks, and some used supplements and toys that hurt him. They have to pay more, but Finnick is not the one who settles the prices, in any case. He never gets to take anything more than the gifts they give aside from what they pay. Since then, he has learnt to withhold a little. That keeps them wanting to please him instead, and the secrets and gifts that they give him come from their desire to pander to him.

So he pouts for his patron's pleasure, answering her inane questions. She hit him; scratched him in the throes of her frenzy, but for now she is calm. Later, he will be the one asking questions and she the one giving him answers for fear that he will become sullen and withdrawn from her. She has information, he is sure of that. She works quite closely with Snow.

"How old are you?" She strokes his face lovingly. She wants to be reminded of how lithe and young he is; how a youth will make love to her over and over again.

He tells her, as if she doesn't already know. "Seventeen."

While he is a simple, solid beast to be used in beds and wherever else that people deem fit, they value him at least for his youth and looks and the pleasure that he's learnt to give them.

"So you've had quite a bit of experience by now, eh?"

"I suppose so." He isn't sure whether she is mocking him.

In the hour that he had turned sixteen, he was sent on his first assignment—even President Snow, a stickler for laws, found it an utter and complete waste to obey laws prohibiting minors from being penetrated when it concerned Finnick and profits. Snow had long figured a discreet way to set up a place at the edge of the Capitol, where auctions were held weekly. For now, Finnick is the star of this casino. If there were once victors who held the same appeal for Snow as cash-cows, Finnick is the only viable one now. The rest became undesirable, and it remains that Finnick is young and handsome. People will pay for him.

"Is your hair naturally this colour?" She looks fascinatedly at its deep brown tones. It has been called bronze, although it is actually fairly common back in District Four. Not that he's been back there much anyway; he's visited a grand total of six times ever since he was crowned the victor of the Sixty-Fourth Games. "Like autumn leaves. Gilded leaves on the ground that catch light and become the essence of those veins."

"Yes. Some call it bronze, but I haven't heard anyone call my hair what you did." He laughs once, somewhat amused at her gift for expression. She does work in Snow's key propaganda department—he should have expected it. "Do you like it?"

"I don't like it." She buries her face in it, inhaling deeply. "I love it. I'm sure everybody waxes lyrical about it."

"Not the way you do." He says simply. This is somewhat true.

She kisses him deeply and he tries his best to respond. Her next question however, is far more predictable than the way she'd described his hair. "Do you love me?"

He smiles in a way that looks like he means it. "I can't answer that question."

His patron, as he had hoped, seems to become even more enraptured by his enigmatic answer. She props herself up on an elbow, studying him. "What was your first time like?"

What should he say?

His first time was a strange haze, with this queer, purple-skinned woman with back tattoos kissing him everywhere and talking in language he'd been startled by at first; then slowly picked up as part of his repertoire. It had horrified him at first—he'd been bewildered and he'd woken up wondering if he was still sane. But since then, he's decided that he is. Surely Finnick is, if he is alive and able to take secrets and savour them. It gives him pleasure in knowing that Snow has no idea that his most loyal supporters would rather have a good, willing fuck than to keep Snow's secrets for him.

"Well?" She prompts him. The sheets smell strongly of artificial perfumes that don't quite cover the real scent of sweat and spent come. The cleaners give him fresh sheets every morning when they do room service, but that's not enough.

He looks at his patron, grinning cheekily. "I can't say that it was as good as this."

She is satisfied with his answer. What she doesn't know is that Finnick's first time felt like his second, third, fouth and subsequent time. Within the same day of his first assignment, the next patron had been stranger yet, sporting alterations and modifications that made Finnick wonder if he would die of some disease when he'd been ordered to join the patron in bed—well, on the table top, actually.

Of course though, the Capitol has long found ways to deal with diseases and illnesses and that sort of thing. Besides the curability of diseases, getting infected is near impossible; the management always screens and schedules the customers carefully in the interest of sustainable returns. For that same reason, the strict rule is that his patrons can't be too rough with Finnick, or they'll face being blacklisted. Nobody likes a bruised apple.

"You're perfect," His patron tells him. "I'm not interested in anyone else except you."

"Not even the latest District Four tribute?" He questions, testing how ready she is to give him information. "I hear he's competition."

"Oh he's a looker alright," His patron says nonchalantly. "District Four tributes tend to be. But I don't think he'll last long. It's been a week now and he's already half-gone. Even if I wanted to pay for him, he'd be dead meat by then."

"True." There hasn't been a District Four winner for the years since Finnick won.

His patron is still curious about him. She is stroking him now. "Is it true that you like men more than women?"

Frankly, he is indifferent. "I haven't made up my mind about that." He lifts a brow teasingly at her, making her smile deliriously. "Although you might be the deciding factor."

Apparently, Snow's belief is that homosexual activity increases the risk of disease. While Snow himself hates the idea of homosexuals, the money offered is too good to ignore. To that extent, male patrons are only allowed to bid for Finnick once every two months, and the price usually goes up to be sixteen times the amount that the average female patron forks out. Not that the diseases are incurable in this day and age, of course, only that it's time-consuming and pricey, and Snow would rather have Finnick Odair functioning for all days of the year. The exclusive, ridiculous pricing-policy works though— the price itself generates demand.

For Finnick, he is screened once every two weeks, and he welcomes the poking and prodding with a ghoulish glee that surprises the doctors every time. They don't know that their kind of invasion is far better than other kinds. They don't know that he near bleaches himself every time he comes near water.

"Kiss me, Finnick."

He does, letting her deepen it even though he fights the urge to gag at the split in her tongue caressing his. He can't refuse the people that Snow sends him. The last time he resisted and refused to do what a heavily-tattooed, beefy-looking patron had asked of him, Snow had heard of it and Shelley was taken to be an Avox. She couldn't even scream after that. Even so, she tried to run in the weeks after she'd been brought to the Capitol but was neutralized later. He has two more siblings— he can't risk that happening to them. Even when Finnick mentors the District Four male tribute each year, he is reminded not to root too much for them. Getting to know them is bad enough—feeling anything for them opens himself up to the risk that Shelley had to suffer for.

But Shelley haunts him on some days when he toys with the idea of slitting the throats of particularly demanding patrons or even Snow's. She died because of him. For that reason, Finnick hasn't gone back to District Four much, even when he sometimes has the time. He hasn't met his other siblings—doesn't dare to. Doesn't dare to care about anything more in case those things are used against him one day.

His patron is getting more excited. She grabs him around his waist, still kissing him greedily.

Sometimes, he wishes he could go back to District Four, where he hears his parents' old house on that cliff still stands. It is deserted now— apparently his siblings couldn't stand how haunted it became after Finnick and Shelly had been taken to the Capitol. Nobody would notice him if he stole back there. But he knows that he is unlikely to pitch himself over and to smash himself on the rocks, and that keeps him away from District Four. That place is only good for memories now.

For most days of the week, he hangs around the casino until it is time for him to report back in his quarters. Even when it is time for the Games and he must mentor the male tribute from District Four, he still has to put up with patrons coming to find him at the Game Center with authorization that Snow provides as a form of access to Finnick. When he hangs around the casino, cameras focus on him, and there are people who want to talk to him all the time. He is told that everybody loves him.

At very least, Finnick thinks grimly, they want a piece of him. His patron has gotten tired of questions and kissing. Now she wants to stretch her money. She begins shifting the sheets around, indicating what she wants. He bites back a sigh and flips her onto her back, parting her legs as she squeals that he is being too eager.

Do you regret paying for me?" Finnick asks lazily, looking at his current patron as he gets ready. "I hear that you set a new record."

"Oh no," She looks scandalized that he even questions her commitment to him. She sighs blissfully, lying there as he works dutifully on her. "I've seen you; I've been watching you for a long time. I had to work hard to win Snow's praise, and when he offered something for the recent campaign that I came up with, I asked for a chance to come here to bid for you. It's worth every cent."

The auction is where masked patrons that have paid for a chance to bid gather. Most of them are debtors to Snow in some way, and they come on the pretext of bidding for art and precious things like that. But the final object for bidding at every session is a 'mystery prize' that is actually the point of the gathering at all. Overall, it is a speedy, efficient process, voila! Business starts rolling in.

It has been rolling ever since.

He feels her hiss and contract around him, and he gasps, trying to keep in control of their rhythms in case she takes control. He'd rather have control, if he must be in this situation at all. But she wrestles him, then leans over and smothers him with breasts that feel hard even if they are generous, crushing his cheeks. In retaliation, he pinches the tattooed mounds, but she doesn't sense his spite and gasps, apparently aroused. He fights to get above her, and she mistakes his repulsion for a dominance driven by lust. She responds with even more fervor.

But he tolerates this. He teases her. He makes her beg. If there is one thing that he enjoys, it is seeing other grovel around him when they were the ones who paid for him in the first place. She doesn't know who has the real power here.

The days when he was controlled are fading—they will fade completely in time. Now, he does the controlling, even if he is currently confined to the context of working as a whore. So long as Snow remains the pimp in this sordid state of affairs, Finnick will never be free. But he knows what he is doing.

His patron is screaming her pleasure now, begging him. Finnick pants his terms, "Only if you tell me what I want to know."

She is too tense to care what he will eventually ask of her. "Anything!" Her voice grows into a shriek, and she is trembling with sensation. "I love you so much, Finnick, I'll tell you anything!"

"Promise?" He must make sure.

She shrieks again, and he proceeds.

Later that day as he sits up in his bed, he reminds himself that the exact marks that Finnick has etched at the back of his closet will be replicated on Snow's pale, withering cheeks. That is if Finnick keeps counting. If he can't keep count—

Finnick pauses, looking at the limp form in his bed. Well, he'll just carve as many as he pleases on Snow. Until then, he'll continue to earn and save those secrets.

It is the only way to keep from going mad.

* * *

The days continue and he tries to keep count still. In the early days, the closet had one mark for one patron. Now, one mark means five. A bundle with a stroke through means twenty-five. There is only so much space for marks on the wood and only so much surface of Snow's face—the face that haunts him every night.

The days don't mean much to him. Time seems to have stopped when he'd taken his first assignment at sixteen, willing himself to be strong for his siblings. Even now, he is afraid to die—Shelley was punished for his one moment of weakness, and if he dies, the others will suffer much more when Snow seeks retribution on the living. What is another year when the last of his family can see the seas that Finnick can only dream of? At least they have their lives and he his liver and vital organs and his strength, his health and his smile—even if it has turned somewhat cold.

Tonight, he will have to meet another patron. Just when he thought that people were getting bored of him. Just when he thought that the start of the Games would distract them for a while.

He is justified in thinking that; he hasn't had a patron for a whole week now, and he's been savoring his time alone. Of course, he is never left alone per se, since everybody recognizes him and wants to talk to him. He is never rude with them; he prefers to make friends that might have information for him one day. He isn't rude with the most demanding patron—why should he be rude to other people?

This place in the Capitol is also a break from the casino that he would have normally been stuck in. Here, the patrons can still reach him, of course, but at least he must be a Mentor and take time off to train. That will give him a break.

He lounges about, knowing that the cameras are already zooming onto his face and body. He eases himself out, ignoring how people pass by him and murmur things to him and drop him roses and all sorts of notes and find opportunities to brush their hands on him. He hates roses. Of course he does. But he doesn't throw those back at their faces immediately. That would anger them.

"So what is your take on the dismaying trends of District Four tributes these days, Finnick?" A reporter asks. "I understand that you've had three years of mentoring already. This is your third year since you've won the Games, yes?"

There is a trill from the audience. On the opposite sides of the screens, he is sure that a hundred patron-hopefuls are swooning.

He doesn't have to pretend to be bored. Are the other mentors and previous victors so uninteresting that they must all crowd around him as if his answers are the only ones that matter? Surely, Haymitch, who Finnick has become quite familiar with over time, is good entertainment? Haymitch, when sober, is gruff and comical in ways that Finnick can appreciate. Still, nobody seems to want to talk to the other Mentors except Finnick.

So he smiles winningly, even if his answer is careless. "Yes, this is my third year. As to the dismaying trends of District Four Tributes in the past decade, I have no comment. Not worth any."

A lady is pressing herself near to him now, and he smiles lazily, thoughtlessly. Her voice is breathless, and he can see her undressing him with her eyes. Too bad, Finnick thinks. She isn't high-up enough for her to have any secrets worth hearing about.

"But at the coming Games," another reporter insists, "Surely you have your hopes up?"

Next to him, Mags is silent, and Finnick pities the pain that she must have to bear year in year out. She won nearly six decades ago, but that is why she has suffered the most. She has had to relieve the Games for all these years as one of remaining Victors that haven't become wasted. Finnick has only been asked to mentor for two years, and in that time, he's learnt from the lesson that Shelley had to pay on his behalf and learnt how to be even more careless and cheerful and removed.

"Every Mentor hopes that their mentee will be fast learners, of course." Finnick says simply. He shoots a smile at the camera, hamming it up. "I handle the male tributes and Mags here the females. Where my mentees are concerned, I'd like to think that I'm a good teacher."

Mags is different. She isn't like Finnick—she can't even pretend to be careless. She had to mentor him and to watch him win and mentor others. She was the one who was beside him when he'd recovered after the Games, and she was the one who hinted what his fate would be. She's had to watch him this whole time.

The reporter is asking again. "Do you think you'll get good students this year?"

It's been two years now of this strange entrapment in a large, sea-themed house on the edge of the Capitol, where a seemingly endless stream of visitors drop by. He 'd grown quite sophisticated in the days that followed from winning; he'd been weighed down with all sorts of things that people gave him on top of filling up government coffers with those Mentoring the subsequent Tributes seals the deal for having one become like Haymitch, who prefers to be drunk rather than sober.

He shrugs now. "I do my duties as a mentor. I can't change what is inherent. You either have what it takes to win or not." He looks straight at the camera. "I had it."

Only hours later, it frightens him that his words come back to haunt him, and that he spoke the truth without feeling any particular emotion. His words had rang true in the room, and those ring true in his mind right now.

The District Four tributes have been dressed in the usual sea-themes, and his eye is drawn to the female.

Perhaps it is the lighting or the makeup the stylists usually ply on the Tributes or something else. This female doesn't have the golden skin that the children of District Four usually have before those darken to burnt, unpleasing tans from the constant exposure to the sun while out at sea. She is pale and fair, although her hair seems to be that common brown and her eyes are that usual green that District Four people tend to have.

He moves a little closer, ignoring some person who tries to catch onto him. The male tribute is like the average child from District Four, of course, and already people are oohing and aahing at him. The male, in his scaly, golden, gleaming strips, looks stiff but resigned and even edgy. He answers questions politely, probably aware that sponsors and popularity itself is the key to survival. He is fifteen this year, and he says that it is an honour to be in the Capitol.

The female, on the other hand, is another case. It is not her very apparent youth at thirteen that makes her look vastly different from the male counterpart. It isn't just the female's pale skin that looks luminous with the silver scales on her, or the hint of curves that are beginning to bloom. It isn't even those enormous, kohl-lined eyes that catch Finnick's own—it is her expression. She is not just frightened; she is muttering silently and incessantly.

The first time that Finnick saw Annie Cresta on the screen, he missed her name as it was drawn out and read. This was no fault of his—the patron would have screamed even if he'd done the minimal. For that matter, only the position that he'd been in with the patron kneeling on the edge of the bed, scrambling for balance, had enabled him to watch the large screen in the Game Center room and to see the results of the name-drawing. Even as that tiny girl had climbed to the stage, shoulders trembling and face white with fear, his patron, kneeling and hands clutching at the bed's edge, had erupted into an ear-splitting scream that drowned out any hope of Finnick hearing anything else.

Now he stares at the tributes standing before him. Most Mentors would have met the tributes this year by now, but for Finnick who lives in the Capitol, this is the first time that he is meeting them. Mags though, seems familiar with her female mentee; she has her hands on the female's small shoulders and Annie Cresta looks trustingly up at her.

Did she want to be ceded? Finnick wonders what her thoughts are. The male Tributes that he's mentored so far were all eager to win. Some seemed to think that it was glorious to be ceded—the usual Career mindset, of course. The mentees he had were all eager to learn from Finnick, and this one seems to be just as eager. The females, who are all under Mags, tended to be that way too. From what Finnick sees, the male Tribute for this year seems to be of the usual District Four stock. The female?

Finnick looks at her paleness. He isn't sure.

Finnick sees her give Mags a pleading, grateful, confused look. She is still mumbling even as Mags answers questions for her. There is something disjointed about her, something delicate and fragile—something that suggests that she isn't normal, even if she is a child that is beautiful to look at. Perhaps she is in shock over being sent here. But it's been two days, and even the most frightened Tribute has gotten over it and started preparing for the upcoming training.

And Finnick knows.

This is the kind of Tribute that has no chance whatsoever.

* * *

When Finnick trains with the male tribute, he doesn't address him by name, even if he knows it. It is easier that the boy has proven to be scheming and willing to harm if need be. He isn't particularly good with the knife or with netting or any of the techniques that Finnick used to win, but he does have a good mix of every skill needed to survive. The boy's one determining trait is how very stoic and competitive he seems—how unfazed he is by this entire situation that he's been placed in. It reminds Finnick of himself.

At the time that Finnick was ceded, he decided that it was just as well that he was called to the Capitol. He'd been the head of his family for some time already, and he'd trained his siblings sufficiently for them to take care of themselves. But the food was never enough and the one good thing about Finnick being ceded was how it was still a chance to feed them. At first, that was what kept him strong in the training. Upon entering the arena, the instinct for survival kicked in, and the potent mix of will, instinct, and luck gave him his survival.

Finnick looks at his mentee, who is practicing knife-throwing.

It seems almost a pity that this boy probably won't make it, since the District One and Two Tributes this year are incredibly competitive and very, very prepared.

Of course, Finnick doesn't really care. It's a one-in-twenty-four chance of survival and Finnick doesn't bother much about guilt or pain or emotions or things these days. He wears his smile happily and acts the usual flirt with those who might matter in the future, jesting around and keeping his popularity up. These things never bothered him much even in the first year of his being a Mentor.

The girl though, is a lost cause. He isn't in charge of her, since Mags handles the female tribute, but Finnick wonders how Mags deals with the thirteen-year old girl. He's heard from the male tribute that she's constantly confused and somehow pitiful as she ties ropes and nets together. Miraculously, she is incredibly skilled at nets and snares, even if Mags declares that she is hopeless with a knife. The boy said that she nearly sliced off her own thumb in training. But then, the boy is fifteen this year—surely his experience would make him scathing of his female counterpart.

He ignores the Tributes, by and large. He doesn't like to look at them. He doesn't want to befriend them even if he is cheerful and merry with them all. He doesn't want to see them and be reminded of himself. So far, it works. His mentee is respectful and learns from him, and the female Tribute keeps to herself. The other Tributes who want to befriend him seem to be satisfied with his jokes and his friendliness, not realizing that they are nameless and faceless in his mind.

It is better for all of them that way.

This morning, Finnick finds the girl singing wordlessly on the roof. He'd decided, an hour ago, to get some fresh air. He needs some of that, since he will be meeting another patron this evening. Snow has sent a message, and each time Finnick gets one from the usual Avox that tends to him, he is filled with dread. But over time, he has learnt to control that too, so long as he has a little time alone to steel himself.

He's come here in hopes that nobody would be up this early and spot him. But his plans are ruined, thanks to her. He takes a moment to decide whether to find another place to sit in or to stay.

She is still singing.

Kahn amiyah nani yaoh solete imalieh, aita inanii, sole, sole… and so on and so forth.

The syllables are so clear, even if they aren't words.

Somehow, he stays. Like an animal that knows that it won't be harmed by this human, he stays still. He watches her as she sits with her small feet dangling off the edge, into the air, her voice small and clear. So she has a singing talent, does she?

The gibberish is musical still. The District Four people are generally good with their voices and ears; those things sustain them at sea, but this girl will never go out to sea with how she purportedly handles a knife.

The tune that she sings doesn't seem to be the kind that Finnick remembers hearing out at sea—the tune is one that she must have heard elsewhere or made up. He listens from where he stands behind a pillar, wondering if her parents miss her. Mags did mention that Annie Cresta's mother died at childbirth. Her father's supposedly an invalid who didn't blink once when she was ceded. If there's a parent at all, at least it's only one that might mourn.

He wouldn't know. His mother had died years before he'd been ceded, and his father had died shortly after that. He wouldn't know what it's like to mourn or be mourned for. He knows how to laugh and to banter and joke and smile though, and that's supposed to be good enough to sustain his sanity.

But when she stops singing, he feels somehow empty. He decides to talk to her, because it can do no harm. Mags seems to like this girl even if Mags generally becomes a mother-figure to all District Four tributes, as she did with Finnick. But if Mags consciously likes this one, it can't be a total waste of time to see what appealed to Mags. Finnick after all, cares for Mags even if he is careful not to show it.

He approaches carefully. "May I sit here?"

She looks at him, eyes startled. But he instinctively knows to act as if he is hunting for fish with a spear; taking great care not to make sudden movements in this river of atmosphere. He smiles.

And then she smiles back. It is a strange smile; curious, gentle, sweet and perhaps, frightened. He has been told that his smile is a beautiful thing; his patrons constantly request that he smiles at them. One was so eager for his smile to the point that she traded a secret just to see him flash his teeth at her. Strange people, all of them.

They have never seen this one smile. It makes him wonder what other would pay to see this girl smile.

He finds his voice.

"Annie Cresta, is it?"

She nods. She certainly isn't a mute—he heard her singing, that's for certain. Her silence is a strange one, and he wonders why he is so eager to hear her speaking voice suddenly.

"Annie—," He pauses. "Annie, as in for Annabelle? Or Anna-Marie?"

She shakes her head. "Annie."

"Just Annie then." He stares.

"And you are Finnick." Her voice is like her smile, and he finds it brilliant and lovely. Those green eyes are like sea-glass, wide and flawless, even if the shade is common—one that Finnick shares.

"That I am." He manages smoothly.

She looks at him curiously, as if she's heard a great deal about him. But there is no speculation in her gaze—there is only a mild interest as if he is a creature that she has pulled out of the tidal pools near the cliffs in District Four.

He is the one who strives to make conversation suddenly. This is strange, because people are the ones who usually fight to talk to him. Maybe that is why he can't resist interrupting the silence this time. "What are you doing, up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep." She looks away, to the distance. The skies are lightening up. "Too many thoughts."

He forgets to flirt and to tease and banter as is his way with everybody; she seems to be a child even if it has been a long time since he'd thought of any Tribute as one. Her voice is like her song; flowing and bright, soft and clear. In the wind, her hair is beginning to shift, and he notices that it isn't the brown that he thought it was—it is much darker than his own. And it wasn't the lighting of the room or any make-up; she is very fair. In the approaching daylight, it is clear that she has a pale skin that reflects light and seems to have absorbed milk at some point.

He continues staring at the girl. "You were singing. Without words."

"Words." She doesn't smile again, which he had hoped for. "Yes."

He wonders if she is normal. He can't quite tell. He makes a note in his mind to ask Mags later. She does come across as slightly slow, but she looks so normal and so harmless that it is possible that the way she acts is actually just part of her character.

"I don't know if you can understand me," He says slowly. "But you've got to work harder if you want to survive this."

The girl looks at him. Her lips are full and pale pink, although those look somehow dehydrated and a bit chapped. Has she been chewing her lips? Her fingers fly to her lips nervously. "I'll work harder. Mags will be proud of me."

He stares, surprised, not sure if she really does understand. "Good." He injects harshness into his voice. "You don't really understand the Games, do you?"

She shakes her head honestly. "I don't." And then she looks at him, a pleading note entering her voice. She looks almost hopeful, as if asking for directions that she doesn't even know how to describe. "Do you?"

His breath catches again. "I—,"

It is all too much for him suddenly, and he isn't sure why there is an upwelling of pity and anger that rises in him. That itself frightens him, and he whips himself up and leaves, determined to ignore her.

* * *

It works for some time.

He doesn't see her much since she trains under Mags. If he sneaks glances at her, she seems to be being bullied by the other tributes, and it is with some effort that he manages to stop from reaching out to help. Her male counter-part doesn't care—why should Finnick? She doesn't seem to notice him unlike everybody else, and that suits him fine.

In the evenings, when the Tributes eat together with their Mentors, it is difficult to forget what she asked of him. But he doesn't know the answer. He doesn't even know what they are all doing here, laughing and smiling for the cameras and hoping that the potential sponsors will take notice.

At one point on some evening, he sees her being pinned to a pillar in a rose garden that he passes by. The funny thing is that she doesn't even cry out for him to sense her presence, although the person with her is arguably loud enough to draw attention to where he has dragged her in the garden. Some former peacemaker turned government higher-up is trying to kiss her. He must be drunk, or he would have restrained himself from trying to take a girl who is not yet sixteen. Her skirt is pulled up, and the peacemaker is growling and his hands are clawing at the delicate, almost translucent dress material.

She doesn't scream, for her hands are near her mouth in fear, but she does look past the man to Finnick with wide, helpless eyes. Before Finnick can decide what to do, a Gamemaker suddenly appears and brings the drunk official away. The Gamemaker doesn't notice Finnick, but shoots a look at Annie that suggests that he feels sorry for her. At least there's one person looking out for her, even if Finnick has decided that he doesn't have enough strength to be like Mags, year in year out.

Finnick leaves quickly; even before the man who'd wanted Annie Cresta is brought away.

He tries not to look at her at all. There's this day when they give interviews in hopes of securing sponsors and the Tributes show off their talents.

Annie sings with words that Mags has taught her, and Finnick knows that there are some out there who are raving about the beautiful, doll-like girl with her quaint charm. She is small and fine-boned, short even for her age, and she is a vision, dressed in white chiffon. When Finnick sees her being led around to dance, he wonders if she feels the stains of people's hands on the cloth.

When he sees her on the day of the Games, he feels as if he has been knocked over with a ram of emotion. It sickens him to see her in a dark, clinging suit like a seal's skin, her hair braided tight and a small pack on her back. He feels Mags stiffening as they watch the Tributes enter, and he wonders if Mags feels ten times worse than he does. He tries to console himself, telling himself that it was fortunate that he did not feel attached to the District Four Tributes— otherwise, he would have felt worse. He can't be like Mags and grow attached to something and then sit still to watch as it is destroyed.

He feels terrible today as he services a patron in this room, and because it has become his habit, he throws himself into the activity. The screen is still switched on and he watches as the District Five and Six Tributes engage in a knife-fight and end up impaling each other at the same time. Not so much because there is blood everywhere and that the screams from the screen resonate with those from his patron, but because he is wondering if the girl is dead by now. There isn't much footage of her even though he's been watching since the start; perhaps she was killed immediately and there wasn't much to show. By the end of tonight, they will know how many limp forms the metal claw has had to pull out.

In the meantime, his patron is gasping and writhing. "Finnick, Finnick—,"

He thinks of the girl with pity. Despite her beauty, her strangeness and unwillingness to pander makes her unpopular and the last he heard, she has much fewer sponsors than some of the less beautiful Tributes. Still, she is good-looking enough to garner what she needs, and food has been parachuted to her, which is what he last heard from Mags. He wonders if it will last.

"Finnick—," His patron is moaning, clawing at the sheets.

His mind is elsewhere. Mags had sighed when the District Four male Tribute had been attacked. The boy had managed to survive, although he was currently badly injured with his ankle all twisted. "I wonder how she is."

Finnick had asked why she cared so much.

"She's special." Mags had told him. "She doesn't know how to kill."

Mags said that Annie can't possibly know enough about the Games. For sure, even when Finnick had won those years ago and the entire District Four had talked for weeks about their Tribute, she had been only a child of nine then. Mags mentioned that her mother had died at childbirth and her father has no time for her. For all of her life, Annie Cresta had been tottering about weakly near the tidal pools, looking for shells to be collected and then sold at the Capitol, mending nets that caught little even for the most skilled.

Of course, Finnick doesn't need to know all that for him to know that Annie is dead meat.

Finnick grunts and turns his frustration to his patron. "Not enough for you?"

The patron is shaking deliriously. Finnick of course, is stretching both of them, glad for once to be distracted in many ways. "There isn't ever enough of you, Finnick. Let's do that again, shall we?"

He barks his laughter, his eyes still trained on the screen but his actions becoming rougher and angrier. "Why not?"

Even when he is free to be alone, he watches the Games compulsively. The trackers injected into the Tributes are working just fine, and the cameras have tracked Annie. To his surprise, she has hidden herself in thick shrubbery, compressing herself so well that she is almost invisible. She didn't fight for the supplies; she simply ran and hid. But her seal suit however, is ripped in many places, and she seems weak and ill with hunger and some kind of fever. She does have sponsors who send her food and water though, and Finnick finds himself glad for that. She won't have a good weapon though, she doesn't have enough money from sponsors for Mags to send anything more than what keeps the girl barely alive.

He can see that there is a madness that has begun to settle over her already. She mutters even more to herself than when he first noticed about her, and she spends an awful amount of time by herself, not doing anything but curling up for hours at an end. He watches her clamping her fingers over her mouth each time someone approaches, and feels her fear even when it is technically only a screen. Mags did tell him that she is a little slow; she had a fever when she was young, although she is by and large able to function normally. This time, on screens, it is clear that she isn't functioning normally.

But the sponsors are getting bored of her—they have begun to support the more active Tributes and they have taken their money elsewhere. Few are betting on her, unless they hope for a mega windfall that's purely made because of its unlikelihood. Sometimes, he wonders if Annie will last any longer, but then he reminds himself that he doesn't care.

Finnick finds himself with a different patron every night now. Snow must really be chalking up debts somewhere; debts that Finnick is now saddled with the burden of.

He never stops watching the Games though. There is somehow a desire for him to watch every minute of this year's. It suits his patrons fine. They don't want to miss out anything either, and Finnick comes to a point where he is servicing his patrons in a fixed position that allows them both to watch the screen. He doesn't lose his expediency and effectiveness, however. If anything, it increases. It is like a conveyor belt in a factory. A fucking factory.

The polls show that the Games this year are going too slowly. Viewership is dropping, and the Gamemakers are being criticized for a lack of creativity. So far, there isn't a clear winner, but that in itself is boring too.

Day in, day out, Finnick watches the Games.

There are poisonous plants everywhere that manage to take down one Tribute from District Ten and leaves two others sick and vomiting incessantly. Those plants however, are far away from where she is.

He wonders why he even bothers.

Today, Finnick watches again. His patron is giggling as he teases her with a feather boa that she has brought in. Her favourite colour is obviously pink—she wears pink lipstick, a pink wig, pink nail polish, pink lace thong, pink stockings—it is like humping a candy cane but without the sweetness and with all the decay.

He watches as the announcer gives the names of those who are left. Although it doesn't come as a surprise to him who has watched every minute, he still wonders how the District Four Tributes have lasted for so long. The boy is still hobbling around, but he has taken down another tribute. With the rate he's at, Finnick is sure that he's headed towards where Annie is.

He continues tickling his patron, his eyes still roving the screen.

The announcer is making some commentary, but then the action begins and the commentator shuts up. There is an encounter between Finnick's mentee and another tribute, and their clashing and screams as they fight must have roused Annie now. She has enough sense not to come out, but curls herself up and looks even tinier, hidden by those bushes. Finnick marvels at how her tactic has been working so well for so long.

He pauses, too anxious and thus forgetting his erstwhile task.

"Finnick!" Her voice rises in a squeal. "Why are you stopping? I was almost there!" His patron isn't that interested by the action on screen—she doesn't really follow the Games, generally, except for the year that Finnick was featured, as she likes to remind him.

She demands that he continue, and swallowing his retort, he continues tickling her, making her laugh, obeying her when she tells him that she is ready and that she wants him. He pounds, his eyes still fixed above her head and focused on the scream, even when the peals become almost indistinguishable from the screams issuing from the sound system in this place.

Annie finds her partner. Or more accurately, his head finds her. It is somehow flung like a bowling ball, into the bushes, and it lands squarely in her lap; as if it had been planned all along. The footage is unsatisfying for the viewers—it is dark where she is and the cameras can only pick out her lap and the stains and the soft, muffled sounds.

It is too much for Finnick. He knows what those sounds are. Her hands are in her mouth and she is fighting back her screams, afraid to be found. The head in her lap must smell of thick blood—the same blood that he thinks of when he sees roses and ulcers. He knows that she is screaming and screaming in her mind, and that her fingers, stained with her partner's blood, are being bitten down on.

For the first time in days, he grabs the remote with his spare hand and elbows it to turn the screen off. He thinks that it won't be long before her hands won't stop her screams. Whoever who beheaded her partner will come for her.

He is honest enough with himself to admit that he can't bear to watch.

There is one satisfied person, if that's any consolation for him. His patron beams at him, sweaty and dripping. The mangled glitz and feathers on her look awful; she is like a pink, exploded flamingo. "Going to concentrate on me now, are you, Finnick?"

He forces a smile onto his face. "I was concentrating all this time. The Games this year are really terrible."

"Oh, Finnick," She is groping for his buttocks, squishing his flesh in her fingers. "At least we have our own kind of entertainment."

* * *

He doesn't watch for the next few days. Somehow, it makes him feel better that people come to him. At least, his mind is taken off things. At least, there's nothing much to feel while he is reminded of his place and how powerless he really is. He gets a few more juicy secrets, but those are of scant consolation when he wakes from his nightmares.

That is if he wakes at all.

Sometimes, he thinks he hears a voice singing. It is enough to drive him crazy.

When he emerges from his room to meet Mags this morning, she takes his hand, shaking her head. She doesn't even offer an apology for why she is disturbing him at six in the morning; doesn't even ask why he is awake and was apparently having a shower before he answered her knock. "It ended early this morning. Around three."

He doesn't need her to tell him that. He watched his mentee die. He didn't have to watch to know that Annie was to follow. He shrugs, turning away, afraid that Mags will sense why he's been so distracted these few days.

"I know it ended. I watched it."

He curses himself when he realizes that he is thinking of her by name.

But what Mags subsequently says makes him curse everything even more.

"She won. Annie did."

"What?" He whirls back to Mags. It takes him a whole minute to register the impact of what she has told him. How could she win? He rakes his mind for memories of the thirteen-year old. Had she finally snapped and gone on a rampage after having her partner's head land into her lap? Going berserk tended to happen in the Games, but surely not with Annie, who wasn't able to use a knife properly even on the last day of training?

He didn't know that Annie stood even a chance. Beyond that, why should he care? What is this pounding in his head? What is this leap to his throat that catches him off guard.

She takes his hand again, her voice trembling. She has become hunched with age, and know she has to squint to look up at him in the eye. "Annie's come back."

"How?" He feels cold with dread, as if Annie knows that he has been watching her the way everyone does for entertainment. Could he have reached out and punched into the screen and helped her at some point? He doesn't know why his thoughts are becoming like this. He isn't sure why he's even taking notice of the scrap of the girl who has somehow come back.

But Mags is surely in joy—her hands are trembling.

"A flood." Mags says, sensing his confusion. "There was an earthquake first—the Gamemakers planned it to drive up the ratings, but the damn broke and the water went everywhere." She shakes her head tiredly. "Most of the remaining Tributes were in the lowlands."

"And Annie?" He stares stupidly at Mags. She was in the highlands for most part. She barely moved anywhere after finding a place to hide in. She did consume some poisonous shrubs at some point though, and the medicine that Mags sent didn't seem to have worked all that well. Even if the person who'd beheaded her partner hadn't found her, or even if the flood hadn't drowned her, it would only be a slower death by poison. "I thought she was poisoned."

"The medical team is draining it out of her now."

"And the flood?" It sickens him that he is taking interest in all of this. He should be laughing, merry, savoring how he is alive and how time will continue to pass and the secrets and marks on his closet continue to build.

"She swam. She's from District Four. Besides, she's lived near tidal pools her whole life." She grants him a worn smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She reminds him of an apple-doll, all dried out with crumbling, peeling skin and with her life juices extracted a long time ago.

"She didn't kill anyone." His voice is a mutter. "But she survived?"

It occurs to him that the people who bet on Annie are really going to have a windfall. He fights back a strange, twisted laugh that floods up in his throat.

"What a strange decision to use an earthquake." Finnick is still trying to make sense of it.

"They chose that kind of disaster that wouldn't give anybody an advantage." Mags says. "But they didn't think that the dam wouldn't hold well. So they did give an advantage in the end—to Annie."

He stands there, hair still damp from his hour-long morning shower, water still trickling down his chest with a shirt barely anywhere in sight. He wasn't expecting Mags to come and find him this early morning. But he feels like he has been drowned; been swimming furiously against currents in a flood. He feels like his head has surfaced, and that he is breathing again.

Is he supposed to feel this kind of surprise and somehow, relief?

"She swims very well. It saved her this time. Helped that she had things to cling onto too." Mags's smile dies though. It creeps off slowly, like someone extinguished the lights in her face one lamp at a time. "But she won't be ready for tonight's announcement."

He doesn't know what to say. Instead, he moves past Mags, who still stands in his doorway, and begins to walk away.

Runs in fact.

Down a corridor, past the common places in the Games Center. If she's been brought back by the Victory hovercraft, then she must surely be getting patched up. An Avox, who's travelling down some corridor, gives him a wide-eyed stare. He can't blame the Avox. Seeing a half-naked Finnick Odair run around the Game Center in early morning is definitely a strange way to start the day.

His feet, bare on the ground, are pounding hard against cement.

Mags has already told him that Annie isn't the same. He doesn't need her to tell him that. Who could be after surviving the Games? But Finnick is sure that Annie is different—she will be far more changed after the Games than Finnick or even Haymitch is. And if Mags is stating something that seems obvious—

Finnick doesn't dare to imagine what Mags was trying to say.

If Finnick has heard correctly from Mags, Annie didn't know much about the Games before coming to the Capitol. He'd asked questions here and there, and his questions had made even the placid Mags somewhat surprised.

She'd remarked that he usually wasn't interested in knowing about the District Four Tributes sent to them to be mentored.

Still, Finnick had learnt some things. When he'd been sent to the Games as a fourteen year old, he had already been equipped to kill, even if the first person that he'd killed had made him wild with pain and rage for a few good hours. She probably hadn't watched—she'd been a child of nine at that time. No parent would want a nine-year-old seeing that kind of thing.

What does Annie know of killing for survival?

Nothing, as he can see. In her hospital bed, strapped and with only a few surface wounds, she is more broken than the others can be. That is because she is alive.

But it will end soon. Annie mutters and then screams a horrible, silent cry periodically and then goes back to her wordless, soundless muttering, her eyes wild in that pale face.

One medical team member is reading the test results to another, and they are discussing if the latest Victor will be able to take another shot of morphling in a few minutes. She hasn't spoken at all. She's lost her voice.

Finnick stands outside the room, watching through the glass window as if bakers are performing their tasks at creating sumptuous rolls. He watches through that screen as if this is the continuation of the Games, not sure why he is watching, but watching still.

The doctors have already tried electro-therapy on her. Didn't work. They try it again.

She jolts up, wrists bound, hair wild. She convulses more and screams a little louder. Her voice is already hoarse and becoming frighteningly faint. He wonders when she will go mute. The schedule has been all messed up because the victor isn't even capable of normal speech, let alone camera-ready. She is flailing and tossing about in that bed, and Finnick wonders whether this is real misery or an escape.

He can't make up his mind. At least, he thinks to himself, there won't be sponsors who want to do things for Snow so that they can get this girl. Nobody wants a rotten apple.

Mags is next to him. She hobbles up painfully, her arthritis getting at her in this cold morning. She offers him a jacket, but he ignores her, still staring through that window. He doesn't feel colder than he is inside. There are others who have awoken to the breaking news and have come to meet the Victor. Some have heard that she's here. Some are watching her through the glass too. It's a new form of entertainment.

When the crowd builds up too much for Finnick to breathe, he decides that it's enough.

He leaves the girl, still bound and crying mutely. She is talking silently and nonsensically to herself behind that window. Some part of him admires her choice. His own choice to live is now one that he doubts. Maybe madness was a better way forward.

Mags is the one who speaks for her behalf. The footage of the Victor can't be aired—nobody wants to have that kind of Victor. The last of her sponsors have pulled out, save two of them. It's not worth funding something that has become incredibly strange and more freakish. If things go the way that they are, Mags is worried that she might be put down and written off as being too weak to have survived the Games. For now, the Capitol and Gamemakers are wondering if no victor is better than having a hissing, loony, completely mad one.

Heck, Finnick thinks that night, he should have pretended to be a raving lunatic. Maybe Snow would have left him alone or had him executed. Finnick after all, doesn't have the courage to terminate his own existence in case he earns Snow's revenge. Annie, mad Annie, won't earn Snow's if she's mad and he chooses to have her neutralized. She won't have chosen death and prevented Snow from working his debts off with her—her father will go scot-free unlike Finnick's siblings, should Finnick choose death over life now.

He turns in his bed, thinking about her. She won't sing those funny syllables and that haunting melody again. He won't ever know what her laugh sounds like. She didn't laugh before and she most certainly won't laugh in the future. Come to think of it, should he have tried to joke with her to hear her laugh, just out of curiosity?

He doesn't know.

That voice is disconnected from that foaming, frothing mouth and those wild green eyes now. She hits out and tries to scratch at anybody who comes near her, and the most the morphling can do is to subdue her for hours. But she made a good choice—the compromise between life and death.

Maybe, Finnick thinks, if he'd given in to insanity like her, his own world would be better than this one. Maybe there wouldn't be so much grime and fear in madness. Nobody wants a rotten apple. Nobody knows what to do with something that looks like an apple but is completely off. For one, he wouldn't have to take the responsibility of the lives depending on his own and lose the pride of choosing to live or die. That choice wouldn't be so hard.

Maybe, just maybe, Annie Cresta is the cleverest of them all.


	2. Chapter 2

**I own nothing of The Hunger Games. R&R please.**

* * *

A few days after the games end, Finnick falls ill. That is strange, seeing that he's as healthy as a bull and hasn't been sick since he was five. Now, he stumbles around, trying to eat, trying to keep his energy up. But whatever little that goes down comes straight up barely an hour later.

The celebrations have begun but these are definitely watered-down this year. The Victor's still recuperating, as the reports say, although they don't reveal that the injuries aren't surface wounds. Finnick of course, doesn't hear or think much of anything, since he's caught a bug. It becomes obvious that he needs rest, for he finds himself weak even when sitting to give interviews.

One of the Avoxes brings him back to his room, and he doesn't have the strength to refuse. He sleeps for hours at an end, and when he wakes, he wonders if she wants to be unbound. And then he reminds himself that she's too broken to know that her freedom's been taken away. Of course, past victors have found escapes too, like booze and drugs and things like that. But before that, the good-lookers were still put through what Finnick is determined to survive. Besides, insanity doesn't hurt as much as to put oneself down the path that Haymitch and a few others have chosen. Madness—now that is going well, if only on balance.

News of him falling sick gets around fast and before he knows it, President Snow is knocking paying him a personal visit. Has he already greeted the victor? Or has he skipped that even though he's visited the Game Center—surely Annie Cresta won't even recognize him? The thoughts are jumbled in Finnick's mind as he registers Snow's presence.

Why is it that there's always a smell of decay amidst the perfume? Whatever it is, Finnick is stirred even before he gets up to greet the President himself. Delirious with fever, he ends depositing his last meal at the man's feet.

Snow doesn't seem to mind—not that Finnick can tell, since he's swooning in a half-faint at the bed's foot, gripping the sheets.

He tries to explain, even though his voice comes out in stammers as he shivers. His mind is thick, as if it is made of wool, and he finds his words trapped. His eyes are stinging, and not for the first time, he's repulsed by how easily he tends to tear.

"Well, Finnick." Snow stands there, seeming almost benign. The awful, nauseating mess that Finnick has created does not affect him in the least. Are those roses so potent? Behind him, the bodyguards cast strange shadows into the room. "I came to congratulate our Victor, but I heard that you were ill and decided to visit you."

It's unfortunate that you've fallen sick." He stares and smiles slowly at Finnick, who's kneeling still. "I hope you weren't careless with yourself."

"I didn't—," Finnick is struggling to stand. Those nights of insomnia must have made his body weaker. He tried his best to sleep but ended up spending hours in darkness thinking of the Games and the girl strapped to the bed, sobbing silently with tears flowing down her cheeks. "It's j-just f-flu— I-I didn't- it's—,"

"Of course." Snow cuts him off, as if to allay Finnick's fears. It intensifies Finnick's terror though. "That can happen to the best of us, isn't that right?" He smiles gently. "It's inconvenient."

"I-It won't happen again—,"

"Of course not." Snow says, almost kindly, as if comforting Finnick. But they both know what Snow is getting at.

And in that soft, poisonous voice, Snow tells him that he will be shuttled back to the casino to recuperate. The patrons won't visit him for a while, but he's expected to recover fast.

He only nods, ill with the fever, cold with fear, and paler than he can recall.

* * *

He tries to get his strength back, because he doesn't want to test Snow's patience. In fact, he returns to the casino barely a day after the closing ceremony. He misses most of it even when someone offers to play him the recaps, because he spends his time trying to sleep off his flu.

It's funny, really. Thousands of years of progress in medicinal studies have passed, where all sorts of diseases can be cured in the Capitol. And yet, Finnick thinks, nothing can help his flu. He takes his medicine regularly, but he has troubled sleep. He dreams of dark spaces and when he wakes, his bones are aching as if he has spent hours curled up in cramped areas.

When he wakes, the air is always tight with fear and sweat, as if he has been transported back into the Games. It is a whole week before Finnick feels well enough to smile and joke and stride around. Even then, he feels hollower than ever and somehow he is distracted even when he sees no reason to be.

Of course, he assures himself that he will forget things if he puts his mind to it, and so he is up and about soon enough. To the best of his abilities, he tries not to think of Mags or the girl screaming silently in the Games Centre. So he throws himself into the motions of living, no matter how routine and utterly miserable it gets sometimes.

It's better than having Shelley's fate replicated for the others. By smiling and laughing, Finnick is the kind who gets by. Better to bite his tongue and take the injustices than to have anything happen to anyone else but him.

Yet, the thoughts eat away at him, and those make him feel trapped. Because of that, he develops the hunger to go exploring. Somehow, boredom seems more present than weariness and the disillusion that has long settled into him.

He struggles with himself for a few days. He is reluctant to get out and see the Capitol. When he passes by the drink bar and looks at the glasses, he hates to see a hundred replicas of his face stare back and mock him. What more about puddles on roads that splash and scold him?

"Whore!" He always hears it in his mind, even if people admire him openly. As bold as he is, Finnick has become afraid of the world outside the casino. Besides, it has a recently-installed aquarium, animal enclosure and swimming facilities. He tries to tell himself that he is fine as a bird in a cage.

But when he happens to catch an interview with Annie's father, who smiles reluctantly for the camera and thanks the Capitol for the honour, Finnick can't help thinking about the bound, mad girl. He becomes a bit bitter about how she has actually found an escape.

After that, Finnick finds the time and the motivation to wander around the outskirts of the Capitol.

* * *

Now he walks along the roads, grudgingly impressed at how well everything functions. But his admiration is always coloured by disgust. The Capitol is amazingly developed, at the Districts' expense.

"It's Finnick Odair!" Someone lowers a jeweled fan that she is fanning herself with.

Another gapes. "What's he doing here?"

He walks without hurrying, even though his instincts prompt him to run. There is a carnival festival today, and everybody's wearing a mask. He doesn't bother with one though—he won't pay for and wear those silly trinkets that could feed a family for a week. Besides, nothing could ever disguise his thoughts better than his perpetual smile and the confident arrogance that he's learnt to cloak himself with.

"Finnick, what are you doing here?"

He doesn't answer but blows a random kiss to whoever who called out to him. He's less resistant to the idea of being rented out now or being thought of as nothing more than a slab of meat. Besides, he's the sort of person who can't stand being bored. Normally, he's usually compelled to drag himself to accept invitations to fashion shows and things like that, so why not the rest of the Capitol?

It pays well if he's a guest at high-profile events, but it pays even better if he walks in those shows. The good-looking victors usually are invited, but he's always invited because he lives in the Capitol. He has been taking fashion assignments for some time and takes photographs to be put into glossy magazines and things like that. It helps him save money and pass it to Mags for the siblings back home, although they never write to thank him. Just as well; maybe Snow won't go after them that way.

Finnick doesn't really like the crazy fashions that the Capitol imposes on everyone there. Some designers and stylists beg Finnick to shorten his name to 'Finn' and to wear bronzer and powders on his face and eyes even when those shows end.

He always jokes it away. "What? Why? Do I need any?" And he struts and strikes poses that make them sigh in awe and take back what they suggest.

But when they suggest alterations, he protests vehemently, not even bothering to be good-natured about it. He already has this ridiculous peacock outfit that he is known for wearing on one show. It was featured for weeks and people were clamoring to go into the casino to meet him. Yet, to have tail-feathers inserted permanently into his ass seems too jokey even for Finnick.

Most of them have to take his flat rejections when they offer to style him, since part of his appeal is the naturalness of his face and form. What he finds himself grumbling over though, is how every fashion show that he is hired to walk in must be sea-themed. Like it hasn't been over-played enough. Like he isn't clearly supposed to be the Poseidon of the Capitol. Like everybody doesn't already know that he's the whore from District Four and that it even rhymes.

"Finnick! He's back from the Games already?" Someone else is looking at him. They have noticed him, but he acts like nothing is out of ordinary. He has just as much right to be here in the daylight as them, even if it is arguably closer to evening now. He doesn't need to be more of a creature of the night than he already is.

The truth is that for all their gawking, he doesn't mind walking around and whistling to keep himself cheerful. Nothing changes whether he is inside the casino or outside or on the runway. There are always cameras everywhere, and everybody is watching him. Even in the casino, Finnick is sure that some Avoxes are tasked by the casino owners to make sure that Finnick isn't up to anything funny or tries to run. Snow of course, is behind it. Not that Finnick would dare to run.

Outside, everybody recognizes him and they like to whip out cameras and take photographs of him and ask him to sign those. He usually declines to sign, although he'll always make sure to smile at them.

Sometimes, he pities himself. But other times, he pities them more. They don't know what he does. They don't know that Snow will have his end one day, and that it won't be a pretty one, if Finnick and a hundred others get their way.

"Finnick!" A woman with pointy-teeth snakes forward and actually grabs his arm. "You're back here? They say you caught ill—are you better now?"

"Of course." He smiles, sending the people who have gathered around him into spasms of delight. He lowers his voice and looks at her with half-lidded eyes. "I'm all better now."

Another woman is raking her eyes down his face and body. "You should have told me that you were ill. I'd have a special remedy for it."

He replies breathily. "I'll bet you do." If she has the money and the secrets that he wants, she'll know where to find him. He moves on as she swoons behind him. He isn't adverse to strolling around openly these days. The shame of having people point and whisper at his back has festered into his perpetually happy ways and how unruffled he is by what they say.

Everybody knows that he takes lovers everywhere and never takes them twice, even if nobody really knows that all of them are sent by Snow. But everybody loves him still, because he never throws his temper and is always jovial and merry. Everyone goes crazy when he arrives. They want to be his friend, and he isn't ever awkward about it. The clown; the court jester—that's Finnick Odair for you.

But he likes to explore on his own. He likes to go to the wholesale streets and look at the produce that comes in from the Districts; getting re-packed and quality-checked. He likes to look at these things before the Capitol takes it all completely.

There are always luxuries in all sorts of forms from District One and intriguing electronic combinations and toys from District Three. He never buys anything since the casino and everyone gives him what he needs. He just lopes around with his hands in his pockets, talking to distributors who want to talk to him about inconsequential, fickle things.

Some of these stall-vendors are actually District people without Capitol pedigrees, and they look at Finnick with awe, like he has made it somewhere. He wonders why they think so, but smiles jauntily anyway, making sure to look rich, well-fed, and happy. At least, Finnick thinks, they'll have something to dream about.

Time can fly if he puts his mind into killing it. Time doesn't have to fly only when he's enjoying himself— he's learnt how to get over and done with things and look like he's enjoying himself.

Like this evening. The masked Capitol people are gone, since it's getting a little cold with the night air. This is especially with how his midriff is exposed in a silly top that is cut midway to expose the lower of his torso.

He's always dressed to play the part of Finnick, the Capitol's golden boy. If he tries appearing in simple clothes, he's hauled back by the owners and told to dress properly. That means tight pants that cling to his flesh, and where possible, coats that don't button up properly so that his navel is always saying hello to the world.

"Aren't you cold?" The vendor asks. Finnick has already spent hours digging through the shells and things that have arrived from District Four, even as the evening grows colder. Some stalls are closing, but this one doesn't mind him sticking around, fingering the starfish necklaces and things like that.

"No," He replied. "Got used to it." He holds up a shell, looking admiringly at it.

"Put it to your ear," The vendor urges. "You can hear the sea."

Like he doesn't already know. He obliges, and he does hear the sea. The shell is greenish, and the vendor tells him that it looks like his eyes. Of course, it's a common colour in District Four, as he is tempted to remind the vendor. He looks at the shell, its smoothness and its tones.

Somehow, Finnick thinks of the patient still stuck in the Games Center. The last he remembers before he came back to the casino, she was totally still. She'd stopped shaking and hitting out—she seemed to have become too tired to fight anymore. He left before he could see or hear of what would happen to her. She's probably still there. Or not. Her father didn't mention her when interviewed. It's been a few months now. Maybe she's been neutralized. For once, there wasn't much fanfare about a victor. Not that he would know—he fell ill.

He really shouldn't worry, unlike Mags. Mags can worry all she likes; Finnick doesn't care. Of course, he did worry a little at first. He did feel pity for the lunatic. But he likes to tell himself that he got bored of it all. Besides, he couldn't not come back to the casino.

"So do you want it?"

The vendor breaks into his thoughts.

He is tempted to buy the small conch, because it reminds him of what was littered everywhere on the shores that he used to run on. But it's a waste of money to buy something that he can find anywhere in District Four. Not that he's going back there, of course. Just that if he did, he'd probably throw a stone and hit a hundred of these kinds of conches.

And so he hands the shell back, shaking his head. "It's too common." And then he decides to go, but not before blowing a kiss to the vendor.

When he gets back to the casino, the dizzying lights are trailing shadows on the floor there is the too-cheerful-for-anyone's-good music is going on. A quick scan of the packed place tells him that the owners aren't in today. In that case, it's usually up to the head bartender to run the business. The head bartender also leaves some food out for Finnick whenever he comes back in the evening, since Finnick is often too busy entertaining to eat when the guests do.

"Finnick, my boy!"

Someone throws him a perfumed flower. He feels faint as he is forced to take it and sniff it appreciatively. Why do they have to enhance something that is already so fragrant and beautiful in its natural state?

"Oh, it's Finnick!"

"You're late, Finnick!" Someone squeals.

Now that Finnick has been spotted by some guests who've seen him enter, they grab him, laughing loudly, calling to him.

He blows kisses everywhere, trying to swim his way forward through the crowds. Games are going on at various tables and in other rooms, all sorts of cards are being flung everywhere. Food and wine of course, is overflowing.

The guests are everywhere, doing their usual rubbish in the casino. The dancers are everywhere with their feathers and sequins and the music is blasting away as usual. But there's some discussion going on in some corner, even though the larger circles of guests haven't noticed it yet.

In his corner, Mickey, the head bartender is gesturing comically and his hands are flying over his head. Not that anything can be heard, of course. Out of curiosity, Finnick hurries over. The head bartender is still yelling, even though his voice is drowned out by the noise around them.

"What's going on?" Finnick peers over the bar counter to see what he's yelling and kicking.

An Avox is crouching, her hair tucked and hidden behind the smart little beret that's part of the casino Avox uniform. She is kneeling on the ground, sweeping up things with her bare hands. There's glass in the mix, and she already seems to have cut herself.

"She dropped a whole tray." Mickey snarls. "How the hell did I get lumped with an Avox that's as dumb as her?"

Finnick laughs once, not bothering to cross behind the bartender's counter. It's cramped enough behind, and he'd rather stick around here and watch unhelpfully. "Don't get so worked up now. It's just one of those things."

The other Avoxes are either serving drinks elsewhere or busy. This one though, has messed up. She's broken one of those crystal glasses that guests sip booze from. It's unusual that there's this going on behind the bar counter—the Avoxes are usually slow to make mistakes. Nobody notices since Finnick is blocking the view by standing with half his body hunched over the bar. Besides, guests are talking to each other and doing all sorts of other things.

But this girl, Finnick sees, is making another mistake. She has finished clearing things but her fingers keep dripping blood, and that ruins the carpet.

"Stupid bint!" The head bartender yells again, storming off to find some first-aid kit. His complaints are drowned by the music of course, and nobody notices anything, since this is all going below and behind the drinks shelves.

In any case, Finnick's curiosity is satisfied, and he straightens up. But as he does, and because he has always been tall, he can still see as the Avox looks up.

And when she does, he sees that it is mad little Annie. Her face is ashen even when her lips are stained berry and her eyes are as pretty as he remembers. She is muttering wordlessly, her fingers bleeding. She seems to be looking at him, but there is no light of recognition; she may as well be looking through him.

For some reason, he feels terrible shame. He swallows, her name in his mind, and then he turns and flees.

* * *

The rope's in a horrific state of knots. Those though, come undone as quickly as his fingers tied those.

It's been two weeks since Annie's arrived and he's made and undone at least a hundred knots by now. He has taken to practicing knotting with a length of rope that he got a hold of, and he keeps it with him whenever he is feeling tense.

Sometimes, he makes nooses with the rope, and just for fun, he puts them around his neck and gags to make the bartenders and casino musicians laugh. They don't know that Finnick laughs at himself too, and wishes that he could tighten the noose.

In the days that come, Mags sends him a message. She tells him that Annie's been sent to his casino. Like Finnick doesn't already know.

She asks him to keep an eye for her because Mags has to go back to District Four—nobody wants an old woman to stay around in the Capitol where's she outlived her entertainment value. Annie Cresta's been turned out of the Game Center—they don't want her around.

He doesn't have to ponder hard to know why Annie can't be sent back to District Four. Like Finnick, Annie doesn't belong there anymore. From Mags' note, Finnick knows that her father has somehow drowned at sea. The old man didn't want the spanking new house that the Capitol gave him. Come to think of it, neither did Finnick's siblings. Not that it's all bad—Finnick is sure that they'd be watched if they'd lived in a house that the Capitol built for them.

Annie's father forcefully deposited the winnings with Mags. Somehow, Annie's father wheeled himself to Mag's place, put the winnings there and managed to take a leaky old boat out to sea. That's why there's no point even if Annie Cresta goes back. Nobody can give her medical attention if she suddenly relapses. That's why Mags thinks it's better if she stays in the Capitol, where doctors can tend to her if she needs it.

From what he's collected, she's been taken as an Avox. One gamemaker brought her over with instructions that she was to stay in the casino and be trained as an Avox. Mags says that she could relapse if she stays in the Game Center, and that at least Finnick will be around to keep an eye on her in the casino.

As he reads the letter, Finnick wonders how Mags got so idealistic. There is no way that the lunatic will get treatment even if she can afford it. But he can't say that to Mags, who requests that Finnick talk to Annie as much as he can.

He puts the letter away, feeling slightly perturbed. This is the girl who was brought back so broken that she couldn't form sentences to give interviews. Not that anyone does—Finnick himself hammed it up for the cameras instead of breaking down when Claudius asked him to describe his experiences. Most don't go mad only because they hide the truth from themselves to some extent.

He thinks about Annie. She seemed mostly calm whenever he ran into her. Maybe they've found that taking her away from anything that reminds her of the Games makes her normal-ish. The owners don't seem to know that Annie still has her tongue. But she does, and Finnick is fairly sure of that. Why go through the costs of an operation when she already can't speak?

He finishes undoing the knots, and then lobs aside the rope. Then he fetches his things to go have a shower.

As scrubs almost viciously, he thinks about the newest Avox in the casino.

There's this saying that if it ain't broke, one doesn't fix it. He's heard of a better one; if it's broken, it's not worth fixing.

It isn't clear to Finnick why the Capitol bothers with her at all. Hell, he doesn't even know why Mags thinks that staying in the Capitol will give her a better chance of recovery. It is true that the Capitol has medics that are more accessible than in District Four, but for sure, nothing will help her much. The aesthetic clean-ups and scar removals are done and there's nothing else that they can do.

He thinks that it's pointless trying to heal her beneath the surface. They've written off Annie Cresta by saying that she was always a loony before she got into the Games. Frankly, even to Finnick, it's convincing enough. It's easy to forget that she could actually speak in coherent sentences before the Games.

The water is cold, as he always prefers. He freezes himself in it, then gets back to scrubbing.

He thinks about Mags's message and her request. It seems to Finnick that Annie doesn't just have Mags' heart—one of the Gamemakers had suggested that she be trained as an Avox in the first place. Clearly, she must have regained some semblance of ability to obey, or at least retained some charm.

If Finnick guesses correctly, the Gamekeeper is the same one who brought the official away from Annie when she'd been pinned to a pillar in the Game Center's garden. Senecca Crane, if Finnick remembers the name rightly. Mags, back in District Four, must be glad that Annie is where she can be looked after—if not by this Gamekeeper, then Finnick at least.

But she's wrong. Finnick doesn't want to have anything to do with the mad girl. He tells himself that she's just lucky to have survived and that whatever that's gnawing at him when he remembers how her fingers were bleeding is just his nerves.

She shouldn't be here. She's definitely not prepared to serve as an Avox. She'll just mess things up. She should have been neutralized.

He begins to scrub again, even though he's done it thrice. Once more can't hurt. But as he does, he thinks of Annie's pale face, and those searching, lost eyes. Somehow, he thinks of her as a child, and she seems even more innocent than before.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, he observes her.

She seems to settle into the place quite quickly in the way that people who don't belong anywhere often blend into the background. Maybe the food here is better than what she's had so far—she gains a little weight that fills out the distressing thinness of her cheeks and fingers.

Annie Cresta takes instructions from the head bartender, who takes his instructions from the casino owners in turn. She is first tasked with serving drinks, but then she keeps dropping things and the Avoxes seem to avoid her when they are working.

She is like Finnick in some ways— ignored and tolerated to a large extent. The other Avoxes, while apparently fond of her, don't want her hanging around them the way they don't like Finnick to offer to help out with chores. Not that Finnick's bad at chores—it's just that he can sense that they aren't keen to have him around, and he keeps away.

After some time, Annie gets relegated to looking after the animals, since overall, she is pretty useless. She gets startled easily, breaks things all the time, and never seems to go without two or three plasters on her fingers. But undeniably, she is good at mending blankets and cloth and looking after the sea creatures in the casino's aquarium section. To Finnick at least, it's exceedingly clear that she grew up in District Four.

Mags sends him another message, inquiring about Annie's settling in. He assures her that she is fine, leaving out the details of the scrapes that Annie gets into. Surely, Mags already expects it—they are dealing with a crazy person here.

Mags replies and says that she entrusts Annie to him.

Not that Finnick needs to do very much, since she gets along quite well with the other Avoxes. The other Avoxes seem to love her and pay her attention when they can, for she is but fourteen and one of the youngest around still. She tends to forget when to eat because she's always hanging around the enclosures, so they bring food for her when they can.

Unlike the Avoxes, Finnick doesn't pay attention to her beyond what Mags has requested. Something about her has always made him nervous, even if she has changed drastically in some ways.

But one evening and only a few hours before the casino opens, he finds her playing with something. She sits in a corner, cross-legged, looking tinier than she really is. Usually, she moves off to the enclosures when the casino opens, but for some reason, she is hanging around today.

Finnick squats next to her. Out of curiosity, he speaks to her for the first time since she's come here. "Can I see that?"

She doesn't even look at him.

Suddenly irritated, he takes it from her. Without realizing what he's doing, he shoves her when she struggles to take it back. He holds it up in amazement, but she flies into a rage and scratches his cheek, still trying to take it back.

He is too stunned, mostly because he didn't expect her to react, and also because he didn't expect her to have a conch shell on her. It's the common kind that District Four's shores are lined with—and this isn't even a particularly good specimen.

He must have yelled in his surprise, since one of the casino owners, Rok Luokei appears. Like children, they squat from where they are on the floor, and he looms over them.

Luokei happens to be around on this evening and he's seen this Avox step out of line and strike the main attraction in his casino. Finnick is the star of this place—it doesn't do to leave marks on him.

And while he isn't as tall as Finnick, he is a monstrous, lumbering sort of man who's always in a suit and little bow tie. Luokei isn't a man that Finnick likes, but they got along well enough since Finnick is polite and cheerful around him and Finnick brings in the dough. He takes one look at Finnick, who's still clutching the shell, and bellows, "What happened to your face?"

But of course, Luokei knows. Annie is pulled to her feet by her long, tangled hair and receives a blow that happens before Finnick can say anything. The blow is so strong that Annie is sent to her feet. Then glaring at Annie still, he grabs the delicate shell from Finnick and crushes it into powder under his heel.

"Rok—," Finnick is stunned. Possibly more stunned than Annie, even though he's seen Rok Luokei using violence against particularly drunk and disruptive casino guests.

Annie doesn't seem to feel pain, even when tears have sprung into her eyes from the impact. She only stares mutely as the shell is crushed into powder under Luokei's heel.

Finnick stares too. He doesn't know why, but that seems worse than the blow that Annie took directly. Luokei isn't the kind to be provoked—he's as good as one of those bouncers in here.

"Listen well, Annie Cresta." The former peacemaker is spitting his words. "I run this casino for good money, and I don't want idiots who don't even make good Avoxes messing it up. I took you in as an Avox because the Gamemakers asked me too—you better not make me regret it. And you take one, long, good look at Finnick Odair here—," He jabs a finger in Finnick's direction. "He's worth ten of you, you little bint. Don't touch him. Now get up and clean this mess up."

Annie stares from where she is on the floor. There is blankness, even though her lips are beginning to tremble. There is an ugly welt on her face that's blooming. And somehow, Finnick comes to his senses at the sight of the sudden violence. He intervenes, telling the owner that some cold cream will be good enough.

"She doesn't understand you—she's mad." He tells Luokei. He is now on his feet, somehow shielding Annie. She doesn't even know how to cower—she doesn't know any better than to clean enclosures and to mend curtains and other things. "I'm fine, really."

The owner realizes just as much, but reaches behind Finnick, hauls Annie up, and then slaps her again for good measure. On her other cheek. Like his previous blow, it comes so fast and so unexpectedly that Finnick is entirely helpless.

"She's got to learn." Rok Luokei says steely. He tells the girl to get lost and signals to another Avox to clean up the powder of the broken shell.

She only stares blankly, and Finnick has to get her to her feet and push her out before the owner gets livid.

Later, even though his better judgment says otherwise, he finds a way to escape the smoky, crowded gambling dens. He steals away, and then gets an Avox to bring him cold cream.

That night, he finds Annie and sits her down by the dolphin pool. He finds her curled up in a tent that some kind Avox has helped her set up next to the enclosure, and he takes her hand and pulls her out.

She doesn't resist, and he likes to think that there's trust in that still countenance. All the same, he may have been the vilest creature on earth, Finnick thinks, and she wouldn't know how to defend herself.

She doesn't seem to feel anything even now—not how the wind thrills against their skin in the night air, the stinging slaps, the cold cream, or how sorry he is that he took her shell from her.

Her hand feels small and soft in his larger one. When he holds her head still with his other hand, Finnick is glad that Annie doesn't even look at him. When he's done with putting the cream on her cheeks, he leaves the rest there and goes away, afraid that he feels close to crying.

* * *

Various assignments make Finnick shuttle from place to place within the Capitol, and the same stylists from the Games those years ago come with him. They visit him once a week in the casino to make sure that he is looking good, but his tolerance of them is always stretched when he must travel for weeks with them. He isn't fond of them, for they only care for his appearance, and he is always glad to shake them off when he can.

Like his admirers and lovers, the casino owners pander to him. One is gruff and prone to fits of violence, but Finnick knows that Rok Luokei doesn't mind him because he appears so confident and good-natured at every point. The other owner, Gantore Mantique, is slyer and the real brains of the casino—he's the one who has even more reason to joke back when Finnick plays the jester; he's the one who always has a smile and gifts for Finnick.

And Finnick accepts their laughs and smiles and tolerance with his own. But he has come to prefer the silence and steady calmness of the Avoxes in the casino. At least, they don't pander to him, even if it's not really a matter of choice where their silence is concerned. Annie too, doesn't stop to look or pay attention to him when he hangs around the aquarium area, and it makes him more comfortable to be there in his free time.

If he guesses correctly, she doesn't sleep in the Avox quarters. She sleeps as near to the dolphin enclosures as possible, in that tent of hers. But Annie seems happy enough, pattering around silently and signing to be understood by the other Avoxes, who can at least write. They don't let her do much work. For one, she'd mess up. For another, they are still aware of the difference between them the Avoxes and the former victors, even if it's a mad girl and a boy who laughs and jokes too much to be taken seriously.

He knows that they like her though. They treat her like a younger sibling and comb her hair when she seems rattled—all just to calm her. For most part, she seems subdued unless her mind lapses. When her mind slips, she bites at her hands and curls up in the nearest space that she can find with her eyes wild.

Once, the guests were arriving, but she refused to come out of a drinks closet in the middle of the main poker room. Finnick, the only one who was strong enough at that time, was asked to pull her out by a nearly desperate bartender. He couldn't pull her out without her trying to bite and scratch, and so he physically lifted the entire cupboard and brought it out to the aquarium. She didn't come out of there for a whole night, so they had to take out the drinks and leave her there.

Other than those rare occasions, she seems perfectly normal at times. But she is always in her own world and she doesn't do much except feed the sea creatures when it is time to. Admittedly, she cares for them wonderfully.

When he sees her and the animals, Finnick feels a bit pained. They are behind glass the way he was once trapped for entertainment and for people to watch on screens. Annie too, looks trapped here, like the other creatures.

None of them belong here, but none of them belong elsewhere. There's nothing left there for him when he can't stand to face his siblings or anyone in that place; because he's cemented his reputation as the Capitol's golden boy. Golden boy alright. The whole thing sickens him, but it could be worse.

At least he has control over the casino in many ways. If he expresses a need for anything, the owners give in to him. They know that he attracts the crowds. Loads of people come to the casino if only to get a glimpse of Finnick. There are stylists and fashion designers who come as casino guests and then end up prostrating themselves at Finnick's feet, begging him to let them hire him as their model or muse or whatever.

Snow probably doesn't mind that Finnick's taking on other work outside the usual, but that's only because Finnick's getting more exposure that way. He works hard and with that awful cheerfulness, because the money that he's saving will go to Mags and then his siblings, even if they don't want it. He saves a little for himself too, because he might be able to afford his own place one day and to leave the casino. Once he starts growing fat and old and ugly, of course.

For now, he likes to make people laugh still. He thinks that people can be understood by the way that they laugh. Some have affected laughs, silly sounds that sound more like hiccups than anything else. Some have frightened, braying laughs like donkey cries. Some laugh like hyenas, and some laugh like fighting geese. It amuses him to hear people laugh at what he tells them and the jokes that he makes; they allow him to laugh at them.

Not with the Avoxes though. He has gotten past pitying them to enjoying their silent, steady company, but sometimes the silence is awful. Not that they know what he's thinking, of course. The Avoxes usually don't mind him when they aren't working, although they don't let him help out until he insists. If wouldn't be good if the casino owners were around and caught the Avoxes having others help them out.

He likes to hang around them when he can, working in mucking-out clothes that he forcefully borrows from one particular Avox who can't quite protest. And throughout it, he often tells jokes for the Avoxes and Annie while scrubbing, doing all sorts of funny accents for them.

Sometimes, he thinks that he is being cruel by telling jokes that can only garner silent smiles and sad eyes at the very most. The Avoxes though, don't seem to hate his insensitivity—they know that he doesn't mean to be cruel. They listen while working, some of them with their young, wondering eyes, and he is afraid to stop joking because a complete silence would be worse.

But each time he tells a joke out of habit and hears only silence, he is filled with self-loathing.

These Avoxes who will never laugh again. Even Annie, whose laugh he has never heard. Not that he cares. She's too unstable and too weird, as he tells himself. Still, he can't help noticing that the Avoxes, as neutral and silent as they are, all seem to love her.

He doesn't want to care. He actually hates her for being smarter than him. He hates her for not knowing what's going on around her. That's why he doesn't like to run into her too much. He doesn't like feeling that sense of loss when he sees her clapping her hands at the dolphins.

He'd much prefer to laugh his days away.

* * *

Some time later, Haymitch visits the casino. Finnick isn't that fond of Haymitch, who calls him sweetheart all the time, but Haymitch visits District Four sometimes and sends word from Mags to Finnick.

The empty glass bottles are spinning between them. At the rate that they are going, the last crate won't last and Finnick won't have the energy to go on tomorrow. Their laughter is echoing messily into the night air, and there are birds quarrelling somewhere in the distance that mixes with their voices. They are being a bit noisy—all of them.

For now though, they don't give a damn.

"You've been spending time with her like you've been told to, haven't you?" Haymitch growls. He slumps forward, successfully going into his intoxicated state. Not bad, considering that he managed to fulfill Mags request before getting stoned. Now, if only he'll be careful not to roll around on the bits of glass and impale himself.

Finnick laughs derisively, pouring the last bit of liquor down his throat, letting it burn down into his entrails. "Which one are you talking about?"

"Annie Cresta." Haymitch says. "I'm talking about Mags' instructions."

Luckily, Haymitch hasn't started vomiting yet. Finnick would hate to have to clean up.

He breathes heavily, thinking about what Mags has asked of him. Somehow, Finnick hasn't gone into the haze that he was hoping to be taken into. Maybe with another bottle, he'll be on his way there. "I do look after her when I can."

This is somewhat true, since Finnick does like to visit the sea creature enclosures within the casino in his free time. Not that he speaks to her or looks out for her like the Avoxes.

"The first victor who's ended up as an Avox," Haymitch considers. His voice is getting slurred, and he belches his laugh. "More screwed-up than usual, eh?"

Finnick laughs. It strikes him that he has perfected sounding happy.

"She's mad. You can't get more screwed-up than that." Finnick laughs callously.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" Haymitch is too drunk to spare Finnick some sensitivity. "I can think of something more screwed-up than Annie Cresta."

"You're looking at the something." Finnick mutters.

Haymitch doesn't hear his answer but then, Haymitch didn't need to hear it and Finnick didn't have to provide it. They continue to drink, telling rowdy jokes that have no real punch lines, even though they come close to punching each other.

"She didn't watch the Games this year." Finnick says. "I made sure of that."

Unlike Finnick and Mags, Annie isn't a Mentor. That would be impossible, even if overall, she has improved. Considering that in the early days, she was a wild animal scratching and hitting out at everything, what she is now is almost miraculous. Those lapses are becoming less and less common over the months of her return from the Games, although the doctors did declare her irreversibly insane.

Annie might have watched the Games and her mind might have lapsed again, so Mags took on looking after the Tributes while they went into the Arena, and had Finnick shuttle back to the casino. Mags asked Finnick to keep her busy. While Finnick doesn't really care, he cares enough about Mags to want to do something for her.

So he instructed Annie to mend his blankets. She mended them well and properly each time, laboring over those in her tiny quarters. But he ripped them up every night of the Games even if his patrons didn't, and stopped only when the airing of the final recaps stopped.

Next year, if Annie's still around, Finnick will probably do the same to keep her from going wild. At least, Mags will make him. Mags must love the child more than she loves him. It makes him slightly envious. He ceased to be a child for a long time, but Annie will always be one.

She's got a bit of luck even with all that insanity, that's for sure.

* * *

One afternoon, he plays cards by himself. He builds card-castles.

He isn't good at cards, despite hanging around these playing dens for three years already. He can play decently, but he doesn't have the luck or flair for it. While Finnick does have quite a bit of money at any one point, if there's any extra tipping that goes around, he saves it. He's seen enough to never want to put anything on the tables. Winnings are rare, but an addict is born every day.

Half of the live band has arrived to start tuning. This is tuning hour, before the casino is opened in the evening and things get crazy in here until the wee hours of morning. For now, they sound like a mess in the room opposite this one. There's a tuba somewhere there. It sounds a bit like a whale in distress.

The other Avoxes are doing things, busy with their tasks and preparing for the night ahead. One Avox is taking stock of the liquors, the other sorting out the chips, so on and so forth.

Usually, Finnick helps out as best as he can, but they usually signal that he shouldn't be hanging around. Instead, they signal to him that he should be getting ready to greet casino guests, which means slicking his hair back and all that nonsense that his stylists usually impose on him. He's not sure if the Avoxes are secretly scornful of him, because he uses his words carelessly and to play with people and their emotions.

One musician pops his head over to ask the Avox for some water, and the Avox hurries to get it, brushing past Finnick without even throwing him a glance. It's like he's the poltergeist of this place, chained to it without really being an owner, a mascot without any claim of mastership.

This is a cesspool.

He tries to build another card castle, but decides against it. It would take too long to sort the cards back into their Districts—he means, houses. Yes. Houses. He moves on to the billet table. The billet sticks are like giant toothpicks and he takes one, twirling it like a baton.

One Avox passes by, sweeping busily. Finnick calls to him, asking the Avox if he can help, but he ignores Finnick, sweeping faster and furiously, as if keen to get away from Finnick.

"Well, if you don't want help," Finnick chirps. "Can you play billets with me?"

The Avox doesn't look up but sweeps himself away very promptly.

"It's not as if I have any incurable disease, you know!" Finnick calls. His joke wears thin even on himself as he watches the retreating back of the Avox. Nobody is coming into this billet room, even if Finnick has left the doors wide open.

Now that there's an Avox that has already handled the general sweeping, Finnick is sure that he's the only speck of dirt left in it.

Beyond it and in the other room, the musicians are still tuning. They sound awful when uncoordinated—like random bits of burps and people passing air. Some of his patrons accidentally do things like that while in bed with Finnick, and it amuses him to see how embarrassed they can get. It makes him feel superior when they find a reason cringe at themselves.

Sullenly, Finnick wonders why this place is still called a casino if it's like a circus, zoo and aquarium all in one. Of course, there are supposedly state-of-the-art facilities and star features like the dolphins and ponies and crap like that. Finnick doesn't care much for intelligent animals doing dumb human tricks.

Caught up with his sudden melancholy, he eases into his routine jesting. He begins to spin the billet stick above his head. He begins pretending to do a tap dance with it. He works out how to hold it, and begins to activate his feet.

He builds up rhythm.

He even throws an imaginary hat into the air. Beyond this room, the sounds of glasses clinking and cloths being slushed into water continuing at a frantic pace—the Avoxes are tasked with getting this place ready even as the owners of the casino sleep in until evening.

Then he suddenly sees that Annie is watching him.

He is startled by her, although his body is still in rhythmic movement.

He doesn't know much about her—he'd like to keep it that way, he thinks. He doesn't know if she grew up in the slight richer part of District Four which his siblings are aspiring to become part of with their efforts to set up a cold-storage business. Or maybe she from a dirt-poor fisherman family like his.

At that thought, his dancing slows down, his feet going into a jog rather than continuing with the frantic tapping.

She stands near the doorway, half-hidden, a bit of that dark brown hair peeking out and her enormous eyes staring at him. He can't see if she's smiling or actually watching him.

What is her appeal, Finnick wonders, that the Avoxes and others love her so much? That gruff, old gamemaker had suggested that neutralizing her wouldn't be good for the Games' spirit.

Finnick, doing a moshing kind of dance now, wonders how killing her off wouldn't be in line with the Games's spirit. Will she be here for the rest of her life as a ready-made Avox that can't do much work? She's spent close to a year in this place already. Does she know that her time is trickling away?

At least she's still alive, he tells himself. Just like him. His feet begin to pick up again, drumming a defiant kind of denial.

He ignores her for most part when they are not alone at the enclosures. Somehow, his instincts tell him to. But he doesn't when she makes mistakes in front of the casino guests. When she drops things or mixes up orders in the casino, he laughs openly at her and leads the other guests to do so. He doesn't mean to be cruel, contrary to what most people think.

It's only so that mad little Annie's will get off without punishment when Finnick laughs openly at her, in front of the casino guests. Most people get infected by the sound of his laugh, and they clap their hands like him at the little clown that's Annie and laugh along with him. Of course, they think that he is making fun of her and that she is but another form of entertainment.

They don't know that he laughs to dismiss her mistake even if in that silly, careless, somewhat condescending way. It's precisely so that nobody will punish her for it. She makes plenty of mistakes when she isn't caring for the sea creatures; if she was punished each time for it, she wouldn't be here by now.

Maybe she doesn't understand why he leads people to laugh when she makes mistakes like dropping drinks and serving wrong orders— she might think that he is mocking her. But he isn't there to laugh at her at all. He's really there to laugh at himself and to ask himself why he, with his full mental capacity, hadn't considered the option of going mad to escape the aftermath of victory.

It amuses him to no end at times.

Beyond that, Finnick realizes now, he laughs so that he can see her smile. Granted, as she stands there, being laughed at by everyone, a tiny, unsure smile tends to creep up on her face. She gets confused and she looks lost, and her defence is to smile. When he laughs, she smiles.

She's still mostly hidden behind that door.

He taps some more, moving his hips in a hybrid of a jig and a belly-dance he once watched dancers do with huge pythons coiled around them. He sings wildly and merrily in a fishing tune that he once learnt as a kid, but with gibberish that's somehow familiar. Where is he getting all these nonsense syllables from, as if they are real lyrics to the tune?

He dances, stepping forward, doing a bit of a foxtrot now. His imaginary hat goes up in the air and he catches it expertly with the billet pole, as if he has been doing this for all his life. Well technically, he has been fishing for most of his life.

He shakes his hips fast, turning his feet in a circle, imagining that there are snakes doing a belly-dance with him. He thrusts happily, bouncing everywhere, clicking his heels crazily in interruption of what would have been a belly-dance until it morphed into a jig.

"Kahn amiyah," He whoops. "Kahn—,"

He moves closer to the doorway all this time, clapping his hands like those Flamenco performers that were invited over last month. He tiptoes, en pointe, even though it is difficult with his height and general weight, and then he goes back to the silent, furious dance with the pole swinging laterally in front of his chin.

"Nani yaoh solete imalieh, aita inanii, sole, sole—,"

Annie is definitely watching. Does she recognize the nonsense syllables that haunted him and became real words to the point that he can dredge them up now? Does she remember?

Suddenly, he wants to see her face. He wants to take her face in his hands and try to read her expression. He wants to touch those soft, white cheeks that were struck so hard before. He wants to put his lips against the skin, just so that he might see if roses bloom underneath.

He continues to leap even faster than before, doing a handstand at some point, just to prove he can. Then he does a series of cartwheels on impulse, and then snatches up two billet sticks this time, going back to the vigorous running jig while his hands juggle those beautifully.

He moves nearer and nearer to the doorway, to the exit of the billet room. He is going faster and louder now, and his singing is becoming hoarse and mad. He feels crazy, but there's blood pumping through his veins and he's alive, even if that's not always good.

And because he suddenly feels so miserable, he throws those sticks aside and grabs the moppet of a girl at the doorway that he's gotten near to.

"Annie!" He whoops. He smiles at her, still jigging his feet. "Annie! Annie!"

Stunned, she doesn't react when he whips her into his arms and begins to do a waltz at a speed that's sacrilegious to the stately rhythm of the dance. She's gained weight, that's undeniable, but she's still very light. He could flip her over his shoulder if he wanted to.

Her breathing is fast and ragged like this as he whirls her around. He is laughing, laughing hard, singing and alternating between gasps for breath. He sees that she has begun to smile. She is smiling widely now, somehow understanding the joy that's re-entered him as suddenly as the misery came flooding into him.

And he ends it with a flourish, holding her hand up in his like they are champions that have won gold medals. Well, technically—

But he doesn't think of the irony of that at first, for he sweeps them both into a bow before the imaginary curtain closes down on them. Breathless, they pant, and he begins to laugh. The sound of his voice bursts out, loud and ringing. It swells above the still-tuning musicians' instruments.

One of the club musicians comes into sight. He is holding his trumpet in a way that suggests he is close to dropping it "You're mad, the both of you."

Finnick grins. Suddenly, he likes that. He wiggles his hips suggestively at the club musician, cheerful again. "Oh yeah!"

"Mad." The musician mutters again, moving out of sight as he scoots off to the practice room. But even if the man is put off by Finnick's apparent lack of control and the brazenness of Finnick's final movement, Finnick becomes aware of something else.

Where she has squatted in a corner to catch her breath, Annie has lowered her face. Her hair has come lose in those soft waves that hang past her shoulders and at her back, the uniform's beret somewhere on the floor. But of what he can see, she has not stopped smiling.

His own breaths becoming quieter, he turns around to look at her. In the growing silence of this room, it is becoming clear what the sounds are, since her hands are near her lips as if trapping something.

She has begun to laugh, even if softly and weakly.

He stares, his voice dying. In return, he hears hers grow for a second. Then suddenly, it's silence again. He doesn't know if he had imagined it. He isn't sure if it was a viol that was being tuned. He doesn't know if it's real.

But his heart is beating fast again like he is dancing once more, and he wonders if something is changing about her.

They are beginning to share a secret, even if she may not be conscious of it.

"Annie—," He looks at her and she doesn't look away from him. Her eyes look surprised too, and for a second, he isn't sure if she's all that mad. She knows something.

So does he.

She is beginning to find her voice.

* * *

**A/N: Well there we have it! I am officially obsessed with these characters, even though those who have read Mockingjay knows how unsatisfying it can get at times. Nonetheless, I hope you've enjoyed this, since there will be more coming! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hunger Games. R&R please.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

**

"Flush." Chaff tosses his cards. Finnick notices that he manages this quite artfully with his stump of an arm.

Cecelia snorts. "Fullhouse."

"Fullhouse." It's said with an emphasis that makes Cecelia look miffed. This one's a better deck, as Brutus knows.

"Two-of-a-kind." Finnick says lamely. He holds out his cards—a mish-mash of nothing, really.

They look at him, stunned. Then Chaff starts laughing so hard that he needs a swig of his liquor to calm himself, and Finnick tries not to flush as the others smirk.

He is glad that he is not playing with his own money. They were short of a player and forced him to play, although all he's been doing is adding to Brutus' losses. Not that Brutus is really losing a lot—he can afford it, what with the way he's been getting all the good cards.

Brutus sweeps up the winnings, laughing raucously. They don't play with high stakes at all; coming from Districts has hammered in a fear of running out of money one day, even though their winnings are technically good enough for the rest of their lives.

"Losing in your own casino!" Brutus snorts. "I wish all the ladies out there could see this."

He laughs with the rest, who are basically shaking in their chairs.

Finnick hates the idea of gambling. But it's not often that there are people that he knows and likes to be with in this casino. This is one night when he doesn't have a patron bugging him. And so he sits around, playing cards with his friends, although he is terrible at it.

"Well, we know what Finnick Odair isn't good at." Cecelia says mildly. In retaliation, Finnick puckers his lips at her sexily, and she shakes with laughter. "Are you going to strip now?"

"I swear," Brutus barks, "This penalty for losing is almost too easy for the loser. We should pick something harder." He looks at Finnick pointedly. "Something that requires more brains than getting nekkid."

It comes as a slap, although he doesn't show his real reaction. It's not their fault. They don't really know what he goes through, even though a reasonably intelligent Victor would suspect what Snow is forcing him into. For crying out loud, Finnick thinks, the fact that he lives in the Capitol and not back in District Four's Victor Village is telling!

But they won't ever know. Cecelia's too plain to be ever considered attractive especially with that stick figure and too narrow eyes—it's a bit of a miracle that she survived without a single sponsor after the first few days in the arena. Brutus isn't attractive too; besides, he's become old and grouchy in the eyes of the ageist Capitol, and he itches for a fight with everyone. Chaff was like Haymitch—a bit of a looker and quite buff back then. But then, Chaff survived the games but lost his hand, and invalids aren't exactly desirable.

None of them really know the implications of their barbs when they call him a ladies' man.

Brutus is crowing now. "Brains, I said. Not just—," He gestures to Finnick and leaves the description to imagination. Finnick laughs along with the others. "Come up with an alternative!"

Finnick, with his extraordinary looks and the disadvantages that comes with it, doesn't like to dwell on things too much. It would be so much harder to get through the days if he cared enough to pity himself. Besides, he's well-fed and he adds to his winnings, so it's not all a loss there.

"Oh no, I insist. It's only fair, since we agreed on the penalty!" Finnick gets up, literally rising to the challenge. He begins swiveling his hips the way he's seen skimpily-clad dancers do every night in this casino. They've given him quite some additions to his repertoire. "There's an—," He pauses, looking sultry in a way that makes the rest crack up, "Art to it."

And then he unbuttons his shirt, keeping his face from collapsing in restrained laughter. He goes down the row, one at a time, slowly, slowly, so, so slowly, moving his hips all the time. But then Chaff jabs him with his foot, laughing too much to be coherent. "Okay, okay, just sit down already before I see what religion you subscribe to."

Finnick does so, still grinning. He's gone past the point of caring that he's cemented his reputation as a toy boy of the richest Capitol people. He's that District Four Career that has since settled down in the Capitol and made good. It's all part of the wider joke. And what's life, without something to laugh at?

Chaff calls for drinks, as Finnick expects he will. They've run out of the booze, thanks to Chaff and the way that he glugs, and so an Avox comes up behind him, serving him.

"It's good that you bring this casino so much business," Brutus says. "We get discounts, don't we?"

"Discounts?" Finnick says indignantly. He pounds a fist on the table. "Do I look so cheap to you? Didn't you know that this is on the house?"

By and large, the place is adapted to keep him happy. That is, it's adapted to keep the patrons who come, mostly disguised as the usual gambler, satisfied. And that means making Finnick happy.

"They need you, clearly." Brutus comments. He waves his hand around at the interior-deco. "I can see that it's all sea-themed."

"Hell," Cecelia says with a hint of sarcasm, "I passed by that aquarium along the way here." She whistles under her breath. "It's showy, that's for sure. I saw the Avoxes working on it. They must have to work hard with this place's scale."

"And a former Victor is slaving away in here." Brutus snorts.

Finnick doesn't feel like responding to that. He has the urge however, to ask which victor Brutus is referring to.

"There's a massive pool too." Chaff says, his breath rank and his eyes looking sleepy. He has downed all the liquor already, and there's little left despite how recently the Avox refilled their glasses. "You use it, Odair?"

"No." Finnick says shortly, unable to come up with anything witty. Not when he has to work there once a fortnight, when the casino has something called Mambo-Jumbo Night. Basically, it's when the gambling takes place around the pool and everyone hangs around in swimwear and ogles. Finnick of course, gets to dive and to have women fighting to stand in line to get splashed from the impact of his body hitting the water. The whole thing is more ridiculous than it has to be, really.

He much prefers to go swimming with the dolphins and turtles in their enclosures, because he dislikes the taste of chlorine in the normal swimming pool. Although he's been spending more time away from the casino, Finnick swims with the animals when he can. For some reason, he has more and more free time these days to entertain himself, which he always delighted at. He has pondered about this, and there does seem to be some plausible explanation.

Maybe, Snow doesn't have that many debts these days. Maybe.

Or maybe fewer people are interested in him these days—it's been five years since he was crowned, anyway. There are other victors to lust after, since the whole idea of fascination is that of novelty anyway. He does have one or two people turning up now and then, but most of the time, he is left to his own devices.

Like now.

As Finnick shuffles the cards, grinning widely. But as the Avox comes to serve them pours drinks again, Brutus looks around and asks, "Where's Annie?"

"Who?"

It is a good question, never mind that Chaff is half-drunk and asking it in a horrible slur. Finnick has never been able to answer that question, despite Annie's having been here for quite some time. She's not a friend—none of the Avoxes are. She's not a charge—never mind what Mags wants. She's not his responsibility—he doesn't want and doesn't have any. But he does spend time with her. He knows things about her. He shares a secret with her, even if she may not really understand the implications of her recovery and how she's capable of unlocking the voice trapped within her.

Finnick is certain though, that he doesn't want to tell the others that he has begun to clean the enclosures with the Avoxes and Annie whenever he can. He thinks about the incident that happened a few weeks ago—when he'd been joshing around and he'd heard Annie's voice.

"Annie Cresta. The winner from two years before." Cecelia says to Chaff. She is quite straightforward—they've all become quite open with each other, since they've survived their round of Games. Finnick finds her calm and firm with others, and Finnick likes her style. "The thirteen-year-old, right?"

Finnick thinks, 'Fifteen now—just celebrated her birthday.' He knows, because he saw the Avoxes slip her a scarf that they knitted in their spare time.

"The girl who swam through the flood." Brutus says mockingly. "Best title ever." He clearly doesn't think much of Annie Cresta, who never took anyone down. "The District Four Tribute." He glances by chance at Finnick, who avoids his eyes.

"Oh, yes, yes." Chaff is glugging his drink again. "The mad one."

They all laugh grimly. It's actually almost natural that the Victors find solace with each other, and Finnick is thankful for having at least that. Finnick though, can't find it in him to join in.

Chaff is scratching his chin with his good hand. "What's she doing here again?"

"She's an Avox now." Finnick tells them. He deals the cards. "Helps around with the animals in this place. The aquarium animals, in particular."

Chaff raises his eyebrows. "Eh?" There's something absent about the space next to him—Haymitch ought to be here, passing bottles between them. But if Haymitch were here, Finnick wouldn't have to be sitting in for this game in the first place.

"She's here now?" Brutus looks around, evidently trying to spot something that might look like an Annie to him. He swivels to Finnick. "You see her around?"

"No." Finnick lies, not looking so that he won't have to point her out. He doesn't even know why he bothers, as if he is hiding a secret. "I don't like to have the Avoxes hanging around me."

This isn't true. He is always finding ways to hang around them. The ugly truth is that he's insecure without people around, despite how tired he is of people. The Avoxes are a good bunch to hang out with because they don't make him angry and feel used. Even if he makes sure not to be too happy around them for fear that it would be unkind, he enjoys being around them. They are genuine at very least.

Cecelia's looking around for Annie too, as if she'll pop out from the air. "Where is she?"

Brutus begins peering around.

"She can't speak." Finnick tells him pointlessly. That just makes Brutus look out even more. Somehow, he doesn't want them to see her. He finishes dealing the cards and then reaches for a drink. "No point getting her here when she can't tell jokes like me."

"Still can't speak after all this time?" Brutus says in surprise. He laughs shortly. "Maybe that's why she's good as an Avox."

Finnick stops drinking for a second to shrug. He is thinking about the laugh that may or may not have been part of his imagination. For sure, if she is beginning to find her voice, she must be recovering in some ways. "If you ask me, she's pretty useless. She can't work the way that the other Avoxes do."

"Then why do the casino owners keep her?" Cecelia wonders.

Finnick has wondered about that too. One could argue that the animals thrive under her. The dolphins let her ride on their back, and Finnick hears that the casino owners may let her do shows in the future. She isn't without value there. But surely, they didn't know that when they were presented with a clumsy Avox, did they?

"I'm not her keeper—I don't know." Finnick tries to shift the conversation away, trying to ignore the worry welling up in him. He has noticed that Annie is beginning to speak. She is able to make certain sounds that are almost syllables now. He isn't sure if they'll have to take out her tongue once the casino owners find out.

Then quickly, Finnick reminds himself that it doesn't do to worry about other people.

"She's in this casino, yes?" Cecelia asks.

"Yes." Finnick doesn't add on, suddenly keen to avoid any topic on Annie.

"I've run out of drinks again." Chaff complains. Finnick is quite sure that Chaff is already drunk—he seems to be blundering his speech, and he is starting to address Cecelia as Finnick and Finnick as Brutus. He looks around. "Oy!"

"Refills!" Finnick calls. He grins at Cecelia. "And hopefully before Chaff goes berserk from withdrawal."

But he is stunned when it is Annie that comes to serve. Of course, Chaff doesn't notice, still trying to tilt the last drop into his mouth and drinking thirstily. Brutus, counting his money, doesn't see that Finnick has gone still.

"Hello, Annie." Cecelia says kindly.

Somehow, she recognizes the Avox that's taking her turn to serve this room of casino guests. It's surprising, Finnick thinks, since two years have passed and Annie is the kind of person that people tend to forget.

Brutus stops counting and looks up in surprise. "Is this Annie?"

"Yes." Finnick says, not sure what they are going to say.

"She looks different," Brutus says unnecessarily, the winnings limp in his hand. This is obvious. Annie has become healthy; much healthier even in the awfulness of the casino. She looks entirely normal; her white pinched face has been filled out since then and there is colour in her cheeks. She looks pert and neat in her uniform, her long hair tucked into her beret. She stands there patiently, dutifully, holding a tray.

Beyond that, Finnick is seeing how lovely her face is even with that inexplicable air of melancholy that she carries within her innocence and senselessness. Perhaps she is naïve and blameless because she can never comprehend and adapt to the world around her, and that is why Finnick cannot help but want to protect her at times.

They are all looking at Annie, save the drunk Chaff who is facing another direction groggily. She has grown a little taller since she was in the Games, and the fabric is of a bright red. It's a world apart from the seal suit she wore then. It brings out the dark, silky hair that's been braided, and she looks remarkably well.

But what amazes Finnick even more is what he sees of Annie's lips. Those actually part as she lifts her face to look a Cecelia, and he realizes that she is forming a word, even if it is silent. She isn't mumbling incoherently; she isn't talking nonsense in her mind. This is a conscious choice of a word—a greeting, even if partial.

"—llo." It is soft and strange, but it is familiar in Finnick's mind.

Cecelia, Brutus and Finnick gape, even as Chaff slumps happily onto the table, drooling noisily.

* * *

A few weeks after Cecelia, Brutus and Finnick hear Annie speak, an Avox rushes up to Finnick, signing and gesturing frantically. He comes close to startling Finnick, who was lounging on a billet table like a cat in the throes of its afternoon nap.

This Avox is much older than Annie or Finnick for that matter, and he seems to be the one that the other Avoxes trust and follow. Finnick though, isn't exactly familiar with the signs that the Avox is making with his hands. He sits up on the table that has become his temporary mattress. He looks around, not understanding, a bit lost. The billets room that he sits in is empty and the head bartender isn't anywhere in sight.

The Avox gives him a look of clear desperation.

"Shall I follow you?" Finnick offers.

The Avox nods promptly. His silence is a painful one. It is exceedingly obvious that he is worried about something and that if he could, he would be already begging for something. He sets off in a sprint, and Finnick is left to put down the rope that he was playing with and to chase.

This Avox runs surprisingly fast, and Finnick actually has to try to keep up. The area that's roped off from the casino guests speeds by as their feet pound away, and the Avox seems to increase speed still.

Following him down the corridors and to an exit that leads to the aquarium and pool area, Finnick has his suspicions. There are few things that make the Avoxes so worried at this time of the day when there aren't many drunkards or rowdy guests around. That the Avox has come to Finnick specifically rather than the Head Bartender is quite telling.

Of course, it is Annie.

Finnick sees her legs rather than her—a few Avoxes are crowded around what must be her form. She is lying down on the edge of the large pool that Finnick never frequents except when he has to. It is a pool that has varying depths and it is more difficult to clean than the aquarium tanks, despite the absence of animals.

He hurries there to the deep end where the little group is. As the Avoxes step back to let Finnick near her, he sees that her uniform is soaked and her hair is streaming wet everywhere. A few other Avoxes are just as soaked— they must have pulled her out of the pool. They don't know what to do—none of them know how to revive her.

One signals to her ankle but Finnick doesn't understand. He is already next to her, trying to revive her. What he can gather though, is that they can't wait any longer. Now isn't the time for questions—they can't afford it if Annie has taken in too much water.

Wasting no time, he gets down on his knees and begins to press against her chest, hoping that he isn't too late. His father taught him to do this, although Finnick has never had the first-hand experience of having to revive a drowned person.

This is madness, he thinks. His hands are shaking and he is shocked at how affected he is at seeing what may be a death—he thought he'd grown used to death and decay in the Capitol after those days in the Arena. How could this girl drown? It seems impossible to him even as he parts her lips and desperately blows air, keeping his hands pumping steadily against her.

He keeps up at it, praying with all his heart that he isn't too late. But within seconds, she coughs up water violently, shoulders caving inwards. And shakily, her eyes open.

"Annie!" He gasps. She shudders her breaths, teeth shaking and chattering. An Avox runs to fetch a towel and they drape it over her. There is applause from the Avoxes, and Finnick suspects that if they could, would probably have cheered. He steals a glance to the things around them— brushes and brooms and cleaning equipment. Had she fallen in while cleaning the tank?

"What happened here?" He muttered. There is a sudden burst of anger within the relief that he feels. How could she have fallen in and nearly drowned with so many Avoxes around her? Or did they all overestimate her as the girl who swam through a flood? Did she splash about after she fell in, unable to swim properly with a cramped ankle, and did they ignore her for too long before they realized that she was drowning?

He crouches next to her, feeling her tremble as he helps her up.

They all crowd around, watching as she sits up unsteadily. But her eyes are unfocused and dazed, and she looks confused. She doesn't even seem to realize that she isn't alone and that there are people right beside her.

In the meanwhile, Finnick sits back, exhausted from the strain of stress and his efforts at reviving Annie.

But what she does next makes them all stare.

She blinks once, looking at all of them as if she doesn't know them, and then her eyes dilate and she screams.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the head bartender knocks on Finnick's door.

It is strange to see the head bartender venturing out of the main hall—he's been working there ever since the casino was set up and he seems to be a part of the place as much as the special crystal cutlery and chandeliers.

Finnick opens the door a little, smiling as naturally as he can while preventing the bartender from looking in. The loud music playing from the in-built sound system is of a pulsing beat and volume that makes even the seasoned bartender wince.

The bartender gapes at what he can see of Finnick. "Your hair and shirt's all damp!"

"Oh yes, working out does that to me." Finnick says nonchalantly. He hopes he doesn't smell too strongly of chlorine for the head bartender to suspect otherwise. "Can I help you?"

"Er— did you hear anything from the aquarium just now? What was that racket about?" The bartender asks curiously. His eyes narrow. "I was coming back to the main hall and I heard screams. Really, really loud screams."

"Oh that," Finnick laughs it off. "That was me. I was just letting off steam along the way down here. Even now." He smiles winningly. "I'm doing a new kind of therapy that requires me to release the stress that way."

The bartender looks shocked, trying to speak loudly over the music. "Sounded like a female. I didn't know you scream in such a high pitch."

"When I'm in the mood, it gets like that. That's what they tell me all the time," Finnick grins idiotically, jabbing a finger behind his shoulder in a vague indication of something that makes the bartender wrinkle his nose. Finnick then screams loudly, in the highest key that he can muster, and the bartender takes a step back, thoroughly shocked.

"Well, don't let me disturb you any more," the bartender stutters. He turns away, muttering something to himself about weirdoes.

Finnick watches him for a few seconds to make sure that he's left, and then he slams the door, locking it shut and turning back to his quarters. Huddled in a corner, screaming still, is a drenched, bedraggled Annie. She is kicking away, trying to get further away from him, but one of her ankles is suffering from a cramp and she can't quite move. The towel that Finnick bundled her up in, slung her over his shoulder and half-ran into his quarters in, is now shredded from her struggling.

Her screams, hoarse and awful with fear don't overpower the stereo, but it's enough to make Finnick feel almost insane himself. He strides to her and tries to lift her up, shredded towel and all, but she claws at him and manages to leave three red strips over his shoulder. Thankfully, she missed his face—that would be inconvenient.

He does manage however, to clap his hand over her mouth, and he hauls her to the four poster so that he has something to push her against. His ears already ringing, he switches off the stereo with an indignant push of his finger against a wall panel, and turns back to the shrieking lunatic whose mouth is covered by his palm. The screams are muffled mostly, but he's afraid to let go.

"Shut up!" He whispers fiercely. "Do you want people to realize that you're not a real Avox and take out your tongue for real?"

The contact of his hand, rough against her mouth, stops her from screaming. She drags her hands to his clapped hand but she doesn't try to pull it away. Instead, she holds it there.

Her eyes are wild in her face and tears are already spilling and rolling down her cheeks. Shuddering to control his anger and fear, Finnick pushes her to lie down, pinning her down with his weight, too anxious to realize that the sheets are getting soaked.

"So you understand then." He whispers. "Good. I'm telling you, if the owners find out that you have your voice back—,"

He trails off. He doesn't really know what will happen, but his instincts tell him that it can't be anything good, and Finnick trusts his instincts.

He hears her panting softly behind his palm. She has screamed herself hoarse already. She is shuddering violently, and her hair is a tangled dark mess. Those eyes are nearly dilated in fear.

"Don't be afraid. Nobody's going to hurt you here." He looks at her, trying to understand what she is so terrified of. "I don't want anyone to hear you, Annie. Keep quiet so I can let go. Do you understand me?"

She gives him an unmistakable nod, and he lets go slowly, rolling off her, ready to clap his hand back at any time. She begins to sob, quiet tiny mewls that shake her already trembling body. He shakes his head, feeling as lost and as bewildered as her. Had he not reacted fast, the Avoxes and Annie would have been seen by the bartender. Finnick was plain lucky that he bundled her up fast enough and ran off while the Avoxes distracted the bartender.

Now, he strokes her cheek, touching the tears with his hand. She curls up, crying quietly, eyes becoming puffy and red. Helpless at her misery and his own confusion, he brings her to him to try and comfort her. He doesn't expect it when she hugs him suddenly, clinging on as though something's after her life.

She doesn't understand herself anymore than he has failed to understand the madness in her. But her voice is a threat to her safety now. It puts fear in him, but he works to hide it as he takes her into his arms too, pressing her against him as if that will make them feel more secure in this mad place.

He hushes her. Her tears are still spilling down her cheeks, wetting his already damp shoulders and shirt. "I know." He pats her back gently the way he learnt to do when his siblings wouldn't sleep. Shelley used to be the worse of them all—she was always afraid of the dark and shadows especially after their father had died. She and Tristan were the youngest, and they used to beg to sleep right next to Finnick. On hindsight, he was always tall and perhaps curling next to their elder sibling gave them a sense of security somehow.

Annie is still mumbling incoherently but not so incoherently for Finnick to miss the muttered ramblings about water and the ground shaking. She must have been reminded of the Games.

Finnick wonders how the hovercrafts pulled her out of the flood. Had she been too exhausted to keep swimming at some point? Had the rest died while she had been seconds away from her own and declared the winner just before there could be none for that year? She feels damp at first touch, but their bodies' heat is beginning to travel from their contact. Gradually, her teeth stop chattering and she becomes silent.

He would like to lie here for a while longer by her side. If anything, Finnick can be brutally honest with himself. But now that she's mostly calm, there's no time to lose. He brings her away gently, speaking in that same hushed tone even if he's not furious or panicking anymore. He sits both of them up.

"You need to take a bath." He tells her urgently. "The owners will be coming to the casino any time now and if they see you, they'll wonder what happened." He looks at her wrecked uniform with a small sigh. "I'll send an Avox here with a change of clothes." He lets go and stands up. "I'll get you a new towel."

She looks at him beseechingly, and he turns back to her. "What, Annie?"

"How long have I been here?"

That she is speaking makes Finnick take a step back. That she is not just speaking but asking a question is highly unnerving. Her eyes are dark in that paper face, and her lips are raw from her biting. But she is so very still and frighteningly calm now.

Her first complete sentence in more than a year is a question.

Suddenly, it makes sense. Each relapse that she has brings her closer and closer to remembering the past and the details of how she survived the games, but it also gives her back her words. The shock of remembering damages and heals her at the same time, although complete sense will not return to Annie.

He forces himself to answer. "It's been more than a year since you won the Games." It comes as a shock to him even as he says it. "You've been here for more than a year."

The direct mention of the games makes Annie's face grow paler than usual. She even tries to get up, forgetting that her ankle is cramped. She falls back, making a hiss of pain, and Finnick rushes to her. He kneels, lifting her ankle and resting it on his bent knee, and miserably, she looks at him while he tries to deal with her cramp.

"Let it rest." He tells her, flustered. "Don't do anything."

She is hearing him but not listening. The harassed look hasn't left her expression, although she sits still.

He asks unsurely, "What happened?"

"I fell in." She whispers. She is staring into the distance and does not look at him when he searches her expression to see what she is really trying to say. "I was drowning."

"Your foot—," He shakes his head, not wanting to hear anymore even while he bends her small foot, trying to work feeling back into it. "It wasn't working well."

She doesn't seem to understand him anymore than he fails to see what she is so fearful of. "I swam." Annie says quietly. "It was cold." She shakes her head. "Very cold. I was blind. There were rocks. I kept begging for help." Her hands are gripped white. "They couldn't hear me."

"They must have been busy." He thinks about the worried Avoxes who thankfully pulled her out in time. "They must have known—you couldn't cry out then."

"They couldn't hear me." She insists in that deathly still way. Her eyes are nearly black from her panic. "They couldn't hear us begging."

"Us?" He whispers, seeing the fear in her face bloom once more. "Who else—?"

It is then that Finnick knows that there is clarity even within her insanity—she isn't talking about what just happened. She is still living in her past, and it haunts her as if it is as real as the present. He understands a little, because it is that way for him at times.

Her gaze grows sharp with hatred. It puts coldness into him—he has never seen her face hold such poison. But it passes as suddenly as it enters, and suddenly tears are spilling down her cheeks. She doesn't flinch—her eyes only grow wider. "They were listening, weren't they?"

She must have screamed for something to lift her out. They'd probably waited until the rest had drowned before they'd fished her right out and just in time. How many times had she gone under the water and then cut through, struggling to breathe? Did she hear the other Tributes screaming through the flood too?

"I got a branch at first." She closes her eyes, stifling a sob. "It broke after a while."

Her terror seems even more real in the way she speaks quietly. These were all her trapped words, he realizes. The shock and emotion was too great and she became silent, unable to articulate what she'd gone through. Even now, the recount seems patchy and it lacks details of what she was feeling. But then, she doesn't need to tell him that she was terrified for him to know.

"I swam." She says again. Her eyes are lost.

"You're really better now, Annie," Finnick says as normally as he can, trying not to listen to her. Somehow, he'd rather have her silence than what she is saying now. It horrifies him in a way that he didn't expect, to hear that soft, steady voice. He lifts her to her feet. "Try and walk."

She manages to take a few steps, and he nods encouragingly, guiding her along until she can take her hand away from his. When she does, he misses the feeling of her holding him. She turns back to him, eyes questioning. She is even more confused than before, but hopefully, that will keep her from talking in front of anyone else.

He forces a confident smile on his face. Mad or not, she has learnt to interpret these things as reassurances. He must be strong—she's so clear-headed in some ways but so muddled in others. If he loses grip with the reality of the present, he'll be just like her. He reminds himself to be strong, because he has gone past the point of trying not to care about Annie. "You'll be fine."

When an Avox comes with a change of clothes and he receives it hurriedly, and dismisses the worried Avox. Then Finnick turns to Annie, where he sees that she is mumbling and deep in thought. She mumbles about bread and Papa and the nets that haven't been mended well.

"Yes, that's good now." He tries to get on with what they have to do and act as if everything is fine once more. If she has apparently regained some kind of sanity, he fears that he is losing his. "Now, you better take a shower—you have your work after this at the drinks bar."

Without waiting, he practically shepherds her into the bathroom. "The soap's there—," He points things out briskly and slings the fresh towel over the rack. Forgetting her fear suddenly, she looks at the bathroom in awe—this is possibly a much larger room than the others that she's been in. Finnick's bathroom, for sure, is filled with luxuries.

"Shells." She points out a mural of tiles. "Conches."

"That's right." He echoes. He is suddenly stricken with guilt as he remembers what he took from her and had crushed. He forces a smile onto his face. "I'll return you yours soon."

He looks at her inquiring, slightly swollen eyes and knows that he is fooling both of them. There is no replacing the crushed things of the past. He of all people, ought to have known that.

She continues to stare at the things in the bathroom, but obeys and seems to understand him when he tells her that she has to hurry. He draws a bath for her and clears out, closing the bathroom.

He manages to keep himself silent for as long as she takes to start washing.

But when the sound of the bath starts, Finnick allows himself to lose his control and sinks to the floor, sobbing. He claps his hand over his mouth the way he had to do for her—afraid to be heard. His shoulders are shaking, and he prays for everything to stop.

He manages to recover—right in time to look normal and almost cheerful when Annie reappears. In her fresh uniform, she would have looked almost like her usual mad self—except that there is an understanding and hint of intelligence in the eyes that now see things differently. Even if she is still mad, there is a growing comprehension in her expression each time he sees her, and Finnick fears that one day, she will remember more than she has to. She is undeniably gentle-natured though, and it is easy for Finnick to tell himself that he'd imagined the hatred that welled up in her before this.

As she stands there, looking at him dumbly like a beaten animal, his heart is filled with pity. He didn't think that he would have anything more than the gaping chasm in him, but the numbness has been changed, somehow. Without knowing why, he crosses to her, brushing her fringe out of her eyes.

And without really intending it, Finnick kisses her on her forehead.

She accepts it as her eyes flutter shut, and when he folds her into his arms, hugging her like the sibling that he lost, she pats his lower back comfortingly despite their height difference.

And she whispers as he did to her, "You'll be fine."

* * *

As usual, the casino's packed and the chandeliers look ready to be used as common hat-stands. There are people everywhere, playing cards, shouting and throwing money everywhere on every flat surface—including dancers' toned bellies. The smoke from cigars is everywhere, and it's enough to make one's eyes swim.

From where he lies on a lounge, Finnick is playing his own game. The shock of the afternoon hasn't quite left, but he is afraid to think too much about it. Besides, he has to keep up with his usual appearances, and so he sticks around.

The people that have come here for him and not the cards and gambling are either cosying up to him or looking on. There are no cameras allowed in this casino, so they stare long and hard, trying to imprint him into their minds. He helps them along, laughing and talking and cosying up to them as well.

A casino-guest touches his chest longingly. "Finnick, you're gorgeous." She trails her smoke around him, and he feels like coughing right in her face. There are others swooning around him as well, and he lies there, tolerating all this nonsense, swirling his drink and sipping from it very daintily.

"I wish my boyfriend looked like you." Someone's being so dazed in his presence that she sighs her admiration. The music that the live band plays is loud, what with all that brass, but her sigh swells up above it anyway.

"Well, I hope he's worthy of you." He smiles playfully. He blows her a kiss, folding his legs and sitting up properly on the couch now. If all goes well, he can excuse himself in an hour and have an early night. It's been a long day, what with finding a drowning Annie who then turns out to be perfectly able to speak.

But he's pulled back by the people who dove to sit beside him when he thought he'd found a place to rest. Forcing a smile, he settles back.

"How do you maintain that physique?" One admirer begs.

I exercise a lot." He says, inserting a tiny little smirk into his face and voice. "It's very—," He pauses strategically. "Vigorous." They swoon.

But it is true. At many times, it is difficult to feel his legs at the end of the day—if there is an end or day at all. Most are satisfied customers, but some are insatiable in the first place. He has been manhandled, stroked, grabbed at, fondled, bruised, roughened up, and all but enjoyed his time with the patrons that Snow sends to him.

On some days, he responds by fucking them harder than they fuck him, making the patrons beg and wheedle and pander even more to him. On other days, when he finds himself actually enjoying dealing out the secret abuse to patrons who come to him and end up begging him to go on and to stop at the same time, he wonders if he has already gone mad.

"Oh, Finnick," One lady is slithering to have her go at sneaking touches of his bare skin. "You're such a dream. As beautiful as Venus Milano in that gallery."

He tosses his empty glass flute to the bouncer, then smirks back at her. "I'm better." He grabs her into his arms, making everyone around him squeal and gasp. She is looking up at him, eyes bright with emotion, smile filled with the infatuation that he's learnt to draw from them. "I have arms."

The bouncer that usually accompanies Finnick when he makes his rounds in the casino lumbers away to get to the other side of the room, where the drinks counter is. He is in charge of controlling the visitors if they get too rowdy, and he's also been assigned to keep Finnick's glass refilled the entire evening.

Finnick stares at the bouncer's retreating back, but just as he's about to turn back to his admirers, he catches sight of Annie.

She has begun working at the drinks counter with the other Avoxes for some time now. Since her accident in the afternoon had to be kept silent from the head bartender, she is serving there tonight. She seems to be doing fine—the head bartender doesn't have anything to scold her for at this point. She seems clear-headed enough to do her job for tonight. She will be fine. She is fine.

His thoughts are filled with her.

As the bouncer manages to cut across the crowd and get to her, she turns to take the glass, and her eyes catch his from across the room. Her gaze is fleeting but it catches him, despite the distance and the people between.

Does she see that there are women trying to crawl all over him? He doesn't know, but she doesn't register anything on that blank face. Now that she has found her words, will she think new things of him and what she sees?

The bouncer has come back with the drink that Annie has refilled. Finnick takes it, and then forces himself to tear his eyes away from the drinks counter. She has already turned away, busy with something else. Even when he touched his lips against her skin, Annie didn't look at him with that quiet scorn that the Avoxes must look at him with— he isn't even worthy of that reaction from her. Instead, there's gentleness in her momentary gaze before she looks away.

Somehow, that riles him. He feels almost frustrated. He wants to have some reaction from her. He wants disgust, if that's the only thing that he can get out of her. She must see and understand what he does—surely Finnick doesn't need her sympathy?

He has control, he reminds himself. Over this casino, and over himself. He'd rather that she scorn him then to pat him on his back and tell him that he will be fine. If he must feel anything, it's fine that he's capable of feeling pity for Annie Cresta. But she shouldn't be the one comforting him—she shouldn't be the one feeling sorry for her. He's luckier than her—he's more secure than her. She shouldn't be the stronger one between them both.

That gives him the strength to look as his admirers and smile.

One woman sighs breathily next to him and Finnick turns to her, purring. "Tell me how much you love me."

She looks at him earnestly. "I'd die for you."

He tries to keep smiling.

* * *

For the next few weeks, the thought of her and that ghost of a laugh skirting into the air haunts him. He wakes up in cold sweat, having dreamt that someone has discovered that she has regained her ability to speak. At times, his dreams are stranger and even more frightening. He dreams of dark spaces and the water flooding his lungs.

But there's more that won't leave him alone—her words, feeling less and hollow, don't seem to be connected to her thoughts either. It plagues him when he's just finished servicing others, or even when he's told jokes to casino visitors who laugh so loudly that they are clearly heard above the music playing. Sometimes, it happens at moments that have utterly no connection to her—such as when he is practicing knotting or right before he falls asleep.

It nags at him. Over weeks now, he's been doing the regular things. He's been forcing smiles onto his face when meets his patrons. But right before he falls asleep, he thinks of her cheek against his shoulder when he took her into his arms. He thinks of the brush of his lips against her forehead and the slight pain of her nails against his flesh. There was almost a release in that pain.

He can't put his finger to it, and now he reckons that he is going mad. It must be infectious.

That upsets him even though he doesn't realize it at first. His frustration grows and he doesn't seem to find the store of tolerance he thought he had for the people around him. Every night, Finnick watches from one end of the hall while lounging on his couch with people everywhere around him. He watches her all the way at the other end of the hall, preparing drinks and trays that get sent around the area. He has become obsessed with the girl who shares the secret of her voice with him and the other Avoxes.

He hasn't head Annie speak ever since the drowning incident. She has enough sense to keep her mouth shut, and of course, the Avoxes don't indicate that she can speak either. He is proud of her in a strange way—proud that she understands how to keep herself alive. But he isn't sure if that she really comprehends her situation. Perhaps it is pure dumb luck that she's used to silence.

Tonight, she is sent by the bartender to cross the hall to refill his glass personally. Finnick wasn't expecting it, but as he turns away from those around him, he is startled to see Annie waiting with a crystal jug behind him. She looks right at him with a calmness that is even more disconcerting than if she'd looked more inquisitive or even disgusted, and he stands there frozen, while she dutifully refills his glass.

She moves off before anybody can say anything, although some guests are looking at Annie in surprise. One of them says, "What a pretty creature!"

"This Avox looks young," Another lady is saying. Finnick clears his throat and they all turn back to him, forgetting the Avox that was sent to them quite completely.

But as he plays the usual tricks on the people around him, he thinks of Annie and the vacant nature of her stare. The fact must be that she doesn't care that he's a filthy person—she doesn't mind because she doesn't even think much of him and won't spare even judgment on him.

He is upset suddenly. It prompts him to grab the nearest admirer, and he whispers, "I think it's getting too crowded here."

He discards the drink that Annie refilled along the way out, not tasting a single drop.

What he's done by seeming to favor one admirer over the others hasn't happened for the first time. When he's so utterly bored of people crowding around him, he takes someone with him just to avoid the other casino visitors. He doesn't mind kissing the random person that he grabs along; he doesn't mind hauling them both to a place where the others won't follow.

But he never lets them have any access to him, since that's not the point of his agreeing to be with them for that evening. They think that they have been chosen to be his lovers, but they get a few kisses and nothing more. They don't know that he only grabs them along because having one person around him is better than having enough to smother him.

He will go one step further tonight, Finnick decides. He doesn't have to sleep with this casino-visitor that he's chosen to be part of his skit, but he intends to. Maybe it will help him remember his dreams of earning enough to hurt Snow back and to pay him thrice times over for what he's done to Finnick. It is good, Finnick decides. It will keep his thoughts of Annie at bay.

This woman that he's grabbed along is giggling as he leads her away.

"What's your name?" He says haphazardly, bringing her down a familiar corridor that the bouncers guard. They look past him with stone faces, like they are ignoring this indiscretion. That's good. He prefers it that way.

"Sirriphae." She says with a giggle. "Sirriphae Wood."

As he leads her to his quarters, sneaking a glance behind him to see if anyone, particularly Annie is watching, he feels a bit triumphant. Everyone tried to trail as he picked Sirriphae, but the bouncers hold them back, and Finnick turns a corner with this new lover and won't be seen even when the leave.

If he's right, she's that Sirriphae Wood—the one who will have plenty of useful connections. Besides, she's attractive enough and she's not entirely repulsive, never mind that her eyes are too wide to look normal. Maybe after this, Finnick thinks, he won't feel so irritated that Annie doesn't seem to be disgusted or feel anything at what he does even when it's not a matter of survival.

He brings her into his quarters, and he locks the door. She smells fine though—not too much perfume, which is why he chose her anyway.  
"So this is your room?" She's clinging to him, kissing and murmuring his name. "Do you pick your lovers like that all the time?"

He laughs, thinking that it isn't his room as much as his enclosure. "Let's keep that a secret, shall we?"

The truth is that this is the first time that Finnick has indulged in a bit of self-destruction, and it thrills him that he's doing it in a way that Snow has probably never imagined. He can't drink himself to waste unlike the other Victors, because that would earn Snow's wrath. Nonetheless, Finnick decides that he can take profits on the side. He has already been doing so in some ways—with the secrets. But this one's different.

Now, Finnick congratulates himself as he turns to his companion and begins undressing her without much ado. Her bright bubblegum blue hair is a bob and quite stylish, even if he hates the colour. But he's doing this just to assure himself that he's doing fine as a rake and that he isn't losing it.

At the same time, Finnick tells himself, if he plays it right, she'll invest in some businesses that she doesn't realize are linked to Finnick's siblings. This Wood heiress has inherited key businesses that District Four is dependent on.

During the seduction, he starts off the conversation skillfully of course, leading her to ask him about what he likes doing in his spare time, and then leading her to ask him what businesses he likes to put his money in.

"Why those businesses in particular?" She purrs.

He smiles, sifting his fingers through her hair distractedly. "I've got friends working there and I think they could do well with your help."

"Who're your friends?" She says curiously. "You must really like them huh?"

"My friends are made of paper." He grins. "And it's nobody female, so don't worry."

She laughs, satisfied. She doesn't know that he's thinking of hair that is very long and has possibly never been cut. She doesn't know that while he touches her coffee-coloured skin, he thinks of white, creamy skin that hasn't seen the sun for too long.

"Your hair's nice." He whispers. Annie's has a faint sort of wave in it, but it seems straight at first glance, and some of the Avoxes like to comb it. He's seen her letting them do that, and he wonders why they find joy in it. He has never found amusement in combing his patron's hair, even if they seem to like putting their own fingers through his hair.

His patron is moaning as he digs his fingers into her scalp, massaging her and then moving onto her neck. As he rubs his fingers sensuously, leaning forward to bite her ear, she arches and whispers, "Finnick, you're a genius."

"I know." He says throatily, reaching for her with less hesitation than he expects to find from himself. This way, he tries to convince himself, he won't feel too soiled when he has to take on lovers who are technically renting his body. Why didn't he think of doing this before? This way, Finnick tells himself, he'll still have control of his life and his own choices. This way, Snow can't control all of him.

But at the end of the night, he feels worse than ever. He thinks of what he's done and how he's seduced this casino visitor merely because there was pent-up frustration in him and general boredom. It disgusts him that he's done all this unnecessarily, even if the motivations were to find escape. No wonder even mad little Annie doesn't look at him like he's real.

As he looks at the person beside him in deep slumber, he knows that she must have fallen asleep thinking that he'll pay her attention after this. But she's no more of a fool than what Finnick is.

Snow didn't have to do much to turn him into a whore.

* * *

Annie can remember if she concentrates very hard. She huddles in her tent, the darkness frightening her. She shouldn't have woken up. Now she has to wait for the first stab of sunlight to enter before she can go out of this place.

Salt and rust against her lips. Then hard bread, although she knows what soft rolls feel like too. She nearly stuffed herself to death when she had her first taste of white, leavened bread.

When she was seven, she found a pearl. A small, flattened, ugly one, like those rotted teeth. But she thought it was beautiful still. Teeth. Biting. Bubbles travel up and then disappear whenever she swims. Her shell has been crushed. The powder must have been swept up. Does it go back to the sea where it forms a pearl?

She dreamt that she was swimming and she can remember that there are tiny bubbles in strings issuing from her mouth, creeping up her forehead, snaking up her hair as she moves her legs and arms forward. It is nice to remember the feeling of the sun casting its nets over her as she swims.

One time, her father beat her for not tying the nets well. The fishes all swam out from some gap that she forgot to mend. He doesn't ever laugh. But he doesn't cry either—she's afraid to cry. He would be ashamed of her.

She digs into the depths of her blanket, glad that she's able to move still. She's afraid of feeling cramped, Annie is. But she's afraid of what's outside too. She opens her eyes. They sting.

And there's Mags who is kissing her forehead and telling her to hide, because that's her only chance. There's that soft, wrinkled skin that's touching her own, and it comforts her. Mags is someone that Annie knows more and more these days. Mags smells of apples and cotton—and Annie can remember her hands. Those were clever hands that could tie anything together.

There's a funny feeling that she's being watched, and while it's not frightening her, she feels like she has swallowed something that wants to come up again. She stares, the tent small and cramped—there's light though. Someone has parted the curtains of the tent.

She isn't swimming anymore. No. She crept out of bed last night because she dreamt that the dolphins were crying. But when she got to the enclosure, they were fine. Still, she decided to keep watch in her tent. She must have fallen asleep again.

"Annie." It's his face. He's looking at her. He doesn't show his teeth. "Are you awake?"

He's crawled half-way into the tent, but she isn't really afraid of him. He hasn't hit her before. She hears his voice often—he speaks very loudly to everyone. Like he isn't afraid of anything. He laughs at everything. His laugh changes all the time. Sometimes it's a hearty, loud chuckle, and sometimes it's choked and gasping, like he's suffocating.

He smiles often too. It's a smile that makes her wonder why he's always so happy, and then she surfaces, gasping loudly as the air fills her lungs. He is warm and soft, despite how harsh his voice can be—and she isn't afraid of him. He won't hurt her.

He knows her name. It is strange. She does know him. She's thought about it, and sometimes it's very clear. Sometimes, she can hear him talking even when he's not around, and she can see him on a stage even when there are so many people in front of her who are straining to see him too.

"Annie." He is calling her again and she focuses back on him. She is all smushed up against the back of the tent, cowering.

Finnick hesitates, then moves in, letting the flaps of the tent come down. Daylight's barely here, and he can sense that she's afraid of the dark. And yet, she chooses to sleep out here where she'll be right next to the dolphins. Strange.

The tent is just nice for one person. It's not big enough for them both, especially since he's much taller and takes up far more space even when he folds his knees up.

Huddled where she is, Annie looks at him warily.

He hasn't been around for weeks, she thinks. He disappears from the casino at stretches, and then he suddenly appears again. He must have come back last night. He's always hanging around the dolphins. Did he dream about them crying too?

He is whispering. "I couldn't sleep and came to swim—I thought you'd be asleep. But I heard your voice. You were having a nightmare. You screamed—I heard you." He looks unsure suddenly.

He is staring at her still and he lifts a hand to push his slick hair back. He must have been swimming at some point. He smells of salt. She stares at his thick hair, wondering why the rest of his body is so smooth—without fur. Like a seal. Or dolphin.

"Annie," he says softly, "I haven't seen you in weeks." He smiles—it is a bit twisted and unsure. "Or did you even realize that?"

She knows, of course. He left one morning, telling the casino owners that he had an assignment. She doesn't know what assignments are, but he does leave like that suddenly at times. But he always comes back. She looks at him curiously. Doesn't he know that she is aware that he will always come back?

"Come on," He's muttering. He takes her hands, pulling her out of the tent into the open air. "No good to coop yourself up like that."

It isn't morning yet, but there's a bit of light and it's not scary outside here when she's not alone. She feels him guiding her to sit down, and she dips her feet into the pool. Her tent is so near the pool that they can put their feet in the water but have the tent over their heads. Sitting here with him, she feels less afraid.

"How have you been?" He says softly. His eyes flicker and he takes her hands again. She lets him take it, and she can see him counting. "You hurt your other finger, Annie?" He shakes his head. "You should be more careful."

Curious, she puts her hand on his skin. Why doesn't he need cloth? He's always walking around like this. Isn't he cold? She presses gently against him; dolphins always pulse when she does that.

But he doesn't.

He reels back, bumping his head against the canvas roof of the tent. There is surprise on his face, like she shocked him. She wasn't careful with an exposed wire last week—that shocked her. Maybe she shocked him. She smiles at him, widening her eyes the way his do.

And then she puts both hands on his taut, waxy skin again, wondering if his eyes will widen anymore. Those do. But then they narrow, and he brushes her hands off the way she always has to brush glass off the floor.

He looks at her without blinking. There is a curiosity in his face, but there's hesitation too. "Do you know my name, Annie?"

She nods. "Finnick."

"That's right." He seems pleased. His eyes gleam in the dark. "I'm Finnick."

"Hello." She tells him earnestly.

He laughs once. "A little late, but it's good to hear a greeting still."

She stares at him. Isn't it obvious? She knows him. He's the one who told her to work hard. He's the one that everyone loves. They are always sitting around him. They are always looking at him. She doesn't know where or why, but she knows him.

"Did you know that we met a long time ago, Annie?" He looks like a cat that wandered in one day, all inquisitive and somehow on edge below that confident, cocky posture. His eyes are green. Her eyes are green and look strange in this semi-darkness. But not everybody's eyes are green.

She opens her mouth, trying to catch some memory with her lips and teeth. She has always known his name. She does. She heard it a long time ago, and she remembered it. It was on everyone's lips. Even now, where she has been brought to, everybody calls him by name. They know him. Of course she knows his name. If only she could place that face with a memory that escapes her.

"Finnick."

She tries again. Her frustration makes her clench her fists, and she closes her eyes, trying to squeeze something forth. Things are becoming clearer. She can remember curling up. It's not so dark in this tent now, so she isn't so afraid. She looks at him, hoping that he'll see what she saw. He's the one who everybody listened to—he was the one that Benjamin was always with. Benjamin admired him. Benjamin didn't like her—but he liked Finnick and listened to everything Finnick said.

He is smiling again. "Well, it doesn't matter. We know each other now, don't we?"

She nods unsurely. Who does she know? Most of her mind is blank. The nets that were moist and crusted with salt when dried in the sun seem to be akin to her mind—the structure of things is there but there are too many gaps everywhere to hold anything of real value.

"Smile for me, Annie." He says this earnestly. It is an instruction from Finnick—she knows her place.

She does hesitantly, not sure what his instructions really are, but his eyes light up.

* * *

Even before he is truly aware of it, Finnick has grown used to the Capitol.

This occurs to him one day, when he is weaving his way around alleys that he's discovered over time. He's come to know all the alleys that allow him to move around town without him being seen too much. He's come to know the Capitol well; almost like the back of his hand. If it hasn't come through his exploring, then it's because he has to make house visits on Snow's behalf.

He can't even remember what his parents' old house really looks like. The most he can recall is disrepair and the honeysuckle that Shelley insisted that they grow. Most of it is a blank—he hasn't seen his siblings for years, even if he sends money to Mags and has her invest in their business without telling them.

It's justifiable that the Capitol's his world now, even if it disgusts him to no end. He's spent six years here already, ever since he won the Games, and since then, he's had plenty of time to forget District Four. Not that he has completely, although he isn't sure whether that's reassuring or not.

It's not his fault that he can't remember much of the past before the Capitol—he shouldn't have to feel bad about it. In fact, he should be trying to forget District Four completely. Why not? He never grew up in the richer area of District Four, but now he'll never have to want for food or warmth again. He'll never have to fish out at sea again—the finest that people back there have fished are delivered steaming on silver platters. He should be fighting to forget that place—that small link in the food chain that ends right at Finnick's mouth.

But the problem is Annie. He thinks of District Four when he sees her.

He's become accustomed to going to the dolphin enclosures when he wants a break, and she always seems to be there. She, with her coloring and the way that she's always swimming around with the dolphins, makes him think of seas beyond the Capitol and the boats that he was once terrified of until he learnt to control them.

Now he sits at his desk, trying to compose his message. Maybe the problem is Mags. She's always asking about Annie. Because of that, he feels like an ingrate, since Mags does so much for him. That's when he tries to help Annie mend the things that can thrown to her. He's good at mending too—he's found that he's quite good with a needle beyond the enclosure nets.

That's for Mags' sake, Finnick tells himself now, and that makes him spend time with Annie. He spends more time than he realizes with her. And that makes him think of District Four, and that makes him upset that he can't remember District Four even if it's better not to.

It's Mags and Annie's fault. Yes. Frustrated, he flops onto his bed and crawling on his stomach, fetches the rope. He begins to knot it.

He knows that the real problem is Finnick himself. He's the one who's begun to go to her in his free time. The other Avoxes don't really show it, but he is sure that they realize that he takes especially to Annie. He's the one who's curious about what she's thinking, even if it technically can't be anything sane. He's the one who's discovered that she isn't stupid and that she's almost normal at times. He's the one who wants to be reminded of a place that he loved, no matter how hard it got on the days when everything he and his siblings fished had to be carted away to people who never lifted a finger in order to be fed.

He's the one who cares enough to find her when he hears that she's broken something and he's the one who bandages her fingers. As far as Finnick can see, she isn't taxed beyond mending things and feeding animals and washing enclosures, although she has learnt to mix drinks recently. But she hurts herself plenty for all of them.

He thinks of her fingers. Those have tiny scars at the tips from messing around with glass. But he's taught her to wear gloves, and she seems to have gotten the hang of it. She's not stupid, even if she's mute and mad.

He's the one who tells her jokes even though she's like the Avoxes and never laughs.

Amongst their silence though, he knows that Annie is finding her voice again. The irony is that Annie doesn't even understand the jokes, unlike the truly silent Avoxes. She, unlike the Avoxes who understand, might be able to speak if she can find the key to unlock herself. She's the one who can sometimes make feeble noises in imitation of Finnick's laugh.

In between sending messages to Mags, entertaining guests and servicing the patrons, Finnick is the one who goes to find Annie in the enclosure. It has become so frequent that this happens nearly every morning. Sometimes, she's huddling in her tent, muttering in her fear, and when he wakes her up, she clings to the first thing that she can get her hand on, like she's about to be swept away in a flood.

And when he has to go elsewhere to meet people, he sometimes even misses the casino because of her.

He lies on his back now, thinking of her. He often watches her groom the otters' fur and how they cuddle up to her and stare at Finnick with beady, jealous eyes. Jealous of what? He doesn't know. It's not like he'll take anything away from them.

His fingers are still knotting and unknotting fast. He closes his eyes. He doesn't need to open his eyes to be able to unknot those complicated loops, even if it takes a little longer.

Just as well.

He likes to watch her swim around after feeding the dolphins. She always jumps in, fully-clothed in her pajamas, and sometimes, he worries that she'll drown. It's difficult to remember that she's a very, very strong swimmer.

He struggles blindly with the knot. He has to untie it—he has to. He wants to. He made the knot—he wants to untie it. But he doesn't see the knot in his mind. He sees water that's not from the sea that he thought he'd want to think of. He sees the dolphins and their smiles. He thinks of hands clasped together in fear, like the knot. But the knot can come undone if he tries hard enough. Some things can't be.

She's locked in her own world, but he's the one who watches her.

* * *

_ It comes to a point where he finds every opportunity to visit her in the early mornings. The standard procedure for those who rent Finnick is that they have to leave by a certain time— they can't stay beyond two in the morning and there's always an Avox tasked with fetching the often bleary patron out.

Because of this, Finnick gets up before anyone else does. He doesn't have to, since he basically leads the life of an owl if he doesn't take on work in the day. But he finds himself eager to wash and to go to the dolphin enclosure before the daylight sets in properly.

When he can, he sits with her at the dolphin enclosure, and he talks about everything and nothing. She doesn't greet him for a second time, but he is as certain as he can be that she has found her words, even if not all. In some strange way, Finnick is certain that when he speaks to her, she is absorbing his words and storing it away somewhere.

And so he talks on and on when they are alone, prattling idiotically, telling all the jokes that he doesn't even find that funny, hoping for some strange reason that she'll talk again. There is this excitement that he finds, almost like a parent who's anticipating the day that the child will utter her first word. Not that he knows anything about that, of course, but that's what he reckons most parents would be like.

He chatters idly about weather and rubbish like that. He frequently argues with himself about why otters are less interesting than dolphins, or even sillier things like why it's inconvenient to have perfect eyesight at times. Sometimes, he pauses breathlessly, hoping that she'll say something.

On the goods days, she hums in agreement. On other days, she watches him silently.

Sometimes, Finnick catches himself wondering what her laugh will be like. At times, when he is stuck with a patron and not enjoying himself at all, he blanks it out by constructing voices in his mind and trying to fit the closest one to what Annie's singing voice once sounded like.

On some mornings, he reads Annie bits of poetry from a love poem compilation that the patron with the snake-tongue left behind. That patron was actually quite literary when she wasn't asking him to do her hard.

He would have thrown it away, had he not found the poems so beautiful. The words are locked in context, but free in imagination, and he reads to her every poem in there.

More often than not, he does it in silly voices and with stupid accents, just so that the sobriety of the lyrical prose will not grow in the air. He doesn't want the delicate terza rimas and couplets to sound so lovely; he doesn't want to do the soliloquies properly, and he doesn't want to hear the satisfying completion and resolution of sounds when they rhyme. He clowns around, stuttering and sputtering like clogged engines at the end.

He isn't sure why he does that so often these days. Is it because hearing his voice is somewhat obnoxious? Does he feel a need to ruin the effect his voice might have to make her feel better about her silence? Does she even feel bad about her silence? Or is because he feels embarrassed? Since when does Finnick Odair feel embarrassed anyway? Or it is because he's afraid that she will understand the words and construe them wrongly in the wrong context? Or what?

He doesn't know.

Day in day out, he speaks to her like she understand him. But when it comes to those poems, he reads what is clearly written as a male voice in a pansy, mousy voice while reading the clearly female voices in gruff, bearish tones. A bit like having transsexuals hold plays—rather grotesque when he does it. At times, he finds it funny. But often, he gets disgusted with how gauche he's becoming. He tries his best, overall, to keep up with it.

She actually gets delighted with how animated he is, and she watches him carefully, as if she's recording his every expression. Maybe that's why he doesn't care that he's ruining things that she doesn't even understand.

But even then, at times, in the silence save for the water lapping around them and the squealing of the dolphins, his pretences fade away and he grows tired of trying to misread and fooling around.

In those moments, when he reads simply and without any falseness, her silence becomes strangely meaningful. In those moments, he wonders if she does understand. He wonders if he would like her to.

Sometimes, he forces himself to recite the poems to people who are not Annie—people who understand the poems and fall in love with him for it. It is a good reminder to him that the words, no matter how beautiful they are, are never exclusive.

Some of his patrons are very sophisticated, and if he doesn't know what he can do to seduce then, he recalls the moments that he spends with Annie. He recites them the poems that he has learnt by heart by reading to Mag's little treasure. They all listen, enraptured, falling in love with him even more. Some listen to him and look at him almost like they see him as a person for once.

But then they want to go back to fucking right after that.

Sometimes, he dreams that he reads the poems in animal voices and with squeaking and snorting. He dreams that he reads the male voices in female pitches and vice versa, and then fucks until they beg him to stop.

And when it is over and he gets to see Annie once more, he prays that she will never know what she came so close to experiencing like Finnick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hunger Games. R&R please.

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See my** puzzlepuzzle** deviantart account for Hunger Games and Finnick/Annie fanart.

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Chapter 4

* * *

Recently, Finnick doesn't know what to do with himself.

At first, he thought it was a matter of curiosity that he began spending so much time with Annie. Beyond looking out for her because of Mags, he tried to tell himself that he was only interested in whether she was really sane or not. For all that time, he told himself that he didn't care if she dropped dead the next day or not.

But here he is now, in his room, doodling on paper and feeling lost because he chased her away yesterday. Or more accurately, he fled first.

While he was telling her about the food that he hated in the casino, Annie put her hand on his knee while they sat around the pool. Perhaps it had been the rip in the pants at the knees that made her think of mending them—her job is to mend things after all.

"There's a tear." Annie had noted softly. She talks in front of him these days. Quietly, in a perpetual whisper. It's mostly his doing that he frightened her into speaking in nothing surer and louder than a whisper.

Each time Annie forgot about what he'd warned and raised her voice in laughter at some joke he told, he made a gesture that suggested that he would hit her. He would have explained the dangers, but the problem was that he didn't know how to explain those coherently. Whatever the case, Annie had flinched and cowered each time, but she learnt fast, and ever since, they've had conversations in whispers.

But her slightly damp, cool hand that had stroked the dolphin's back so gently seemed to be a small white lily against the torn cloth. With that touch, her whisper had sounded like a swell of waves in his ears, and something had twisted in him

He doesn't know what he felt—even now. But it had made him flush, and he flinched. He'd pushed her hand with his rougher, more calloused one off. "Don't touch me!"

She hadn't looked hurt, only bewildered. She hadn't gotten a word in before he'd left.

Even now, he feels guilty. He has never lost his temper at anyone in the casino. Why then, at a mad girl?

But that he even feels guilt makes Finnick is ashamed of how he reliant he may have grown on Annie. If she was someone that he started looking out for unconsciously as a matter of obligation, now he wants to protect and keep her safe. He has watched her progress over these two weeks, seen her talk in broken and gradually more complex sentences, and he's watched her smile at him when he asks her to.

He tries to cover up for any mistakes that she makes, and it puts him on an edge each time he watches her across the hall serving drinks in the evening. He is worried every time a guest gets too near her.

Beyond that, he is becoming too attached to this Avox. He is too fond of her now.

Annie's presence and the undeniable progress over a short two weeks has started to make him feel horribly vulnerable. He must be careful not to let anyone discover that Finnick and Annie are perfectly capable of having conversations—no matter how strange or one-sided those often get when she's in one of her less stable moods. He mustn't go to her too often, he tells himself. The Avoxes can't keep secrets that put themselves out in the open.

And yet, he goes to her when he can—looks forward to it, even. He's the one who wants to talk to her.

He thinks about her as he doodles with wavy lines that don't connect to anything. He has a few hours of free time before the casino opens for the evening, but he avoids the urge to go to the enclosures. But if he does, he knows that he'll be at peace; he'll laugh genuinely and enjoy being here in this casino for at least those moments.

Last week, he asked her whether she liked flowers.

Perhaps she misheard him. Perhaps she wasn't so sure what he was asking about. But Annie said, calmly, almost as if she understood him, "Yes."She didn't stop there. She looked at him with that sweet-natured, leveled gaze. "I like Finnick very much."

Even now, Finnick doesn't know whether she really does understand what he was asking about. Nonetheless, he had spent the rest of that day grinning like an idiot, not caring so much even when the casino owner gave him a message from Snow and told him to stay in his quarters until the guest arrived for the weekend.

As soon as the guest left, he went back to the enclosures to find Annie.

Maybe that's what real insanity is, Finnick thinks now. It's not about being lost or confused like Annie. It's not even about being sick in the mind. That would only be scratching the surface.

He laughs as he thinks about what Annie first asked him when they first met. Neither of them really understand the Games, even if they somehow survived it. For both of them, insanity isn't an illness. It's about being so aware and so incredibly certain of some things that the others fade into nothingness—that one sees from an angle where nearly everything is obscured and where one does not know where reality starts and ends.

And even though Finnick tries to deny it, he still hears her song in his head. He knows the words like those really exist. He knots those in his mind—each syllable is replicated in the length of rope and cause slight abrasions on his fingers and hands. That song will drive him to madness sooner or later.

He draws another wavy line that blots dark and soberly into the white. Thanks to yesterday, even his rope couldn't keep him busy beyond fifteen minutes. This doodling exercise too, doesn't stop Finnick from thinking of her.

To have her speak and ask child-like questions that he can't answer fills him with joy. Granted, her sentences are unsophisticated, but she can speak in proper sentences and she's more than capable of connecting her words with situations. Ever since that strange day by the pool when she'd nearly drowned and screamed in shock, something about her has changed. It's in her face—those eyes are far more focused and determined, and she doesn't make mistakes so much these days. She seems to deliberate things now, and she seems to have grown up somewhat in a short span of time.

Sometimes, Finnick even forgets that she's mad.

Of course, Annie isn't actually learning per se. He's only helping her unlock things, and he can't give her more than what she has already remembers. She has begun to talk of waves and fishes and of boats. She can remember District Four still, and she will want to return at some point. She can, even if he can't quite. She talks of cliffs and her father, who will be wondering where she's been. She speaks of tidal pools and a tiny house that was always too far from the main lighthouse for anyone to notice it. She probably will return—eventually.

In his room, he draws gloomily, blotting and staining his fingers in the process.

He doesn't want anyone to know that she can speak—not even the Avoxes, who have already heard her scream. If the others discover that Annie can speak, that could be dangerous for her. Otherwise, the owners would send her back to District Four.

Finnick knows that someone like Annie would languish in the Victors' village. That part of District Four is a gated community— further away from the seas than the houses and boats that dot and line the shores and coastal cliffs. Is she to live in an empty, gilded house, where her father's ghost can't even haunt because it is out at sea? And what will become of her, since her father isn't around to look after her anymore? Is Mags expected to, simply because Mags belongs in District Four's Victors' village with the others? And what will the former Victors think of Annie Cresta and how will they treat her, she who is nothing remotely like the Careers the way the others are?

And so he forbids her to speak in front of the others each time he must leave—a reminder that he repeats anxiously even as she nods to show that she understands. But there is more than that to his motivations, and not all of it is so altruistic. There is jealousy involved. What else would explain the way that he stores every word she utters greedily in his memory and smiles himself to sleep so very often these days?

As awful and selfish as it is, Finnick wants to keep every hint of Annie's growing recovery to himself—he doesn't want her to go back to District Four. If she must bring him into madness with her, it doesn't seem as bad as being here all alone. She has become the only one that he wants to talk to. Whether it's because the Avoxes can only give silence or whether it's because Annie is too disconnected to hide her thoughts and motivations from him, he has come to rely on her.

His thoughts are of madness. He knows that. That's why he mustn't go to her. She encourages this insanity without even having to utter a single word.

Frustrated, Finnick leaves the ruined paper and collapses onto the ridiculously large four-poster. He isn't sure that she knows what the meaning of friendship is, or that she understands that he has come to think of them as friends. But if she did, would she despise him for wanting to keep her here? Would a real friend do what he has been trying to?

The worst thing is that Annie trusts him in that mute, dumb animal's way.

He doesn't even know if she smiles around him because she really wants to. His tricks with the patrons don't work on her—she doesn't understand when he flirts and plays around. Hell, she doesn't even understand half the jokes that he makes.

But she smiles around him—she smiles at everything he says. And that makes him feel worse because those smiles make him want to keep her here so that he has something to look forward to each time he returns to the casino.

He rolls around on the bed aimlessly, thinking about Annie and smushing his face into the clean sheets. But as he does, he feels something hard prodding in his cheek and pulls out the poetry book that he left under his pillow.

Annie reads the poems these days, ever since he started teaching her to read syllables and join those to the sounds of her words. She was rather illiterate to begin with, unlike Finnick, who'd been schooled for the early years. Even after being plucked out of school when the other siblings had arrived, he'd practiced reading and writing with sticks and sand and from picking up old cartons washed upon the shore. That painful process of fumbling with syllables and trying to match them to the sounds of the words is one that Annie is going through now, but she's eager to learn and Finnick is an able teacher.

As he sits up and looks at the book, Finnick decides that he will find Annie. It wasn't fair that he lost his temper with her—she didn't do anything to deserve his anger. He thumbs through until he finds the right page. He will go to her and read the poem that she seems to like—the poem that she always flips to and wants him to read.

Marrysong. He likes it, perhaps as much as Annie. The imagery reminds him of District Four, all wild and free, and perhaps Annie likes it for that reason too—perhaps he will be able to understand why when she acquires the words to tell him why. Even if he doesn't really believe in all that nonsense about eternal love, Finnick understands the speaker's curiosity about the girl that he mentions, and Finnick personally likes the idea that people can form bonds through their desire to understand each other.

He looks at the words, thinking about how Annie listens intently each time he reads everything out. She seems to feel the same uplifting emotion that he does when he finishes the penultimate words— she must sense that a free verse becomes a couplet at the end and the resolution in rhyme. There is always that little release of air when he finishes Marrysong.

He will go to the enclosure and seek her out, Finnick decides now. He will try to make up for it by reading a poem that she always flips to—he finds the leaf that he usually presses between those particular pages. Not that he needs it. She always seems to know which page it is and flips to it all the time, which makes him wonder if she understands things than she lets on.

Perhaps, Finnick thinks for a moment, she will understand if he expresses his longing for her to stay here. Perhaps Annie will agree to stay; not knowing that any sane person would have left at the first chance to.

And then Finnick realizes what his thoughts are, and he is stricken with another wave of guilt for quite some time.

* * *

"Well, hello there."

She looks up from the nets that she is mending. As Annie has learnt to do from the other Avoxes, she gets to her feet, because it is a way of acknowledging those who run this place. Of course, she gets up a little clumsily because there are all those nets in her lap, and she nearly forgets that she is holding the needle but manages to remember it in time.

Right after she puts the needle into the wrist-cushion, she curtseys as she was taught by one of the Avoxes. One of them has brought Mr. Mantique here—her eyes are lowered and don't meet Annie's.

"Annie Cresta, isn't it?" Mr. Mantique inquires. "I haven't seen you in a long time. Not since I had to deal with business in the Capitol centre." He chuckles and she looks at him wonderingly. Do they know each other? For sure, she knows that he owns this place like Mr. Luokei, even if he is usually never around.

Annie can't quite understand why Mr. Mantique is here. He usually isn't around in the casino—and even if he is, he has never come to the enclosures. But when Annie dares to look up at the owner, she sees that Mr. Mantique is showing his teeth. Those are very white. But those are pointed—not like Finnick, who has big, white chunky teeth that he shows each time he laughs.

"So this is the girl who swam through the flood." Mr. Mantique says. He looks carelessly at the Avox who must have led him here. "You can leave."

As the Avox creeps past them, Annie takes a step back involuntarily.

"Annie Cresta," Mr. Mantique says, cutting into her thoughts. "Do you know who I am?"

She keeps silent. Finnick warns her each time that they meet that she must keep silent with others. She doesn't know why, but she can sense why. She looks at Mr. Mantique, with his fancy clothes and powdered face. She can't say anything in front of him. Finnick made it clear that she was to hide her voice away.

But isn't Mr. Mantique alright to talk with? Finnick himself, Annie thinks, likes Mr. Mantique. He laughs, juggles and jokes and tells stories to Mr. Mantique all the time, who laughs in return and pats Finnick's back indulgently. Finnick doesn't laugh as much when he's with her, although she tries her best to read and smiles when he asks her to.

Mr. Mantique takes a step closer, looking at her very carefully. She lowers her eyes, afraid to look into his face. Annie has seen him before, but not this close. He might hit her. Perhaps she hasn't been mending the nets fast enough. One of the otters swam through it and left a huge hole and Annie has been doing all she can. But maybe it isn't enough. Mr. Luokei could be angry and have told Mr. Mantique. Mr. Mantique has never hit her before. But Mr. Mantique isn't around enough for him to have seen Annie make mistakes.

He shows his teeth again. "I'm Gantore Mantique. I'm one of the owners." He shows more of his teeth. "I'm not sure you understand that, but take it from me that I'm the one who decided to employ you." He laughs and stands there, tall and very thing, dressed in that coal-grey suit with golden cufflinks and his goatee dark and curling around his finger. "Well, in a sense anyway. You were thrust upon this casino, but it's not a bad investment, as I'm coming to understand."

He takes another step towards her. "Not that you will, of course. Maybe," He pauses, "Maybe I will need to explain things to you slowly."

She looks at him, not really understanding.

Has he come to see the animals? There are people who come to the enclosures in the evenings at times. Some do come to see the animals but sometimes they throw things at her. They dance and foam at their mouths and smash their glasses and they seem to ignore mostly everything until something catches their eye.

Once, three casino visitors came and injured a dolphin once, and Annie tried to go into the enclosure to stop them. But two of them held her back and no matter how she struggled, and the other kept hitting the dolphin with a pole. But Finnick came and he hauled them aside. He called them drunkards even as he sat with Annie for a whole night, tending to the battered dolphin. Drunkards. But Annie knows what that is. Her father foamed at the mouth a few times in the past too. She recognizes what that sickness is.

Now, she wonders how her father is. Who will mend the nets for his boat when she's here mending the enclosure nets? Who will comb his hair when he slumps over the table and grips the air violently? She looks at Mr. Mantique and hesitates. Maybe he'll let her visit her father. Should she ask?

"The problem is that you still can't speak." Mr. Mantique sighs. "It'll be harder that way, eh, Annie?"

She looks around, unsure. Finnick will be popping up at anytime, Annie thinks, smiling and laughing heartily and plucking things out of the air and juggling as Mr. Mantique laughs too. They are very good friends. Even better than Finnick with Annie and the other Avoxes. Finnick doesn't laugh as much with Annie and the Avoxes. He smiles, but he doesn't joke as much.

She looks at Mr. Mantique curiously. Why does Finnick like him so much? Perhaps, he is as kind as Finnick. If Annie asks, will Mr. Mantique let her go back to see her father?

Mr. Mantique is still curling his goatee. "Well, I think we better get to know each other better, Annie." He smiles. "Why don't we go to my office now? I hear from the head bartender that you're one of the Avoxes who make sure the cobwebs don't gather while I'm elsewhere in the Capitol. I'll send for biscuits and tea, so come along now."

She looks at his smile, wondering whether to return it.

He takes her hand firmly. The seal-pup fur is wonderfully soft, and she looks at those white-greyish and dappled gloves with amazement. He laughs once, and it is a soft, steady sound that rings in the air.

"I'm sure that we will be friends." He says merrily.

* * *

The Avoxes in the casino know more than they have been letting on.

The same one who brought him to the pool when Annie was drowning is now intercepting Finnick, preventing him from going to the enclosures. Just like the last time, this Avox is pale with fright. He seems to be gasping—wanting to say something, pale in his face.

This time, Finnick doesn't ask.

"Take me there." He tells the Avox grimly.

He expects to be brought to the pool again—or even the Avox quarters where something must have happened. He thinks he is prepared for the worst even as he runs with the Avox. But when they halt before Gantore Mantique's seldomly-used office, Finnick knows that he certainly did not expect this.

The Avox signs for him to be quiet, eyes very troubled.

And Finnick dismisses the Avox quickly, not wanting him to get into trouble. The Avox bows low and leaves, looking so beside himself with worry that Finnick cannot help but feel sorry for him. And Finnick senses, through the Avox's anxiousness, that something has gone wrong.

And when Finnick peers in through the door's crack , he understands why.

Her hair unbraided and flowing and her skin paler and more luminous than ever against the plum backgrounds of Gantore Mantique's office, Annie sits silently. Her cap has been removed and her hair has tumbled to her back. From where he is, Finnick can't quite see everything, but what he can see of her eyes is that those are the same, trusting ones that she often looks upon him with.

Her waist is so slim that hands less wide than Finnick's can almost span it. Had he held her for himself, he would have measured that circumference with his palms. Easily.

He can hear the caress of a voice and her name on another's lips.

"Annie." A pause, and Finnick strains to see but can't quite at his angle. "You're fifteen now, aren't you? You're going to be sixteen soon. What would you like for a birthday present?"

A gleam of teeth. Would Finnick have smiled at having her look at him so trustingly? And then a small, choked laugh.

It shakes Finnick from his daze.

* * *

When Finnick finally manages to leave Mantique's office, he makes sure to laugh and smile at the owner and be as nonchalant as he came. Almost as if he'd been wanting to visit Mantique upon learning that Mantique had arrived, and that he'd wanted to catch up over some tea. That he never knew that Mantique had someone in his office right before Finnick had knocked on the door.

He goes to find her back at the dolphin enclosure.

Finnick is panting by the time he gets there—he walked as normally as he could but sprinted once he passed a corridor. He ran from Mantique's office with his fears growing more and more real by the minute.

But now, Annie greets him joyfully before he can say anything. And before Finnick can even begin to express his fears, let alone think of what to do to show that he is sorry for how brusque he was yesterday, Annie is pulling him to sit by the pool's side, smiling trustingly at him. The way she smiled at Gantore Mantique.

It makes his blood go cold.

But she whispers, "Hello, Finnick," and he forgets everything.

As they sit, he looks at her hopeful expression and swallows, not knowing how to warn her. How can he warn her about Gantore Mantique when she probably doesn't even understand the risk that she's in? And what right, Finnick thinks painfully, does he have to warn her of Gantore Mantique when his own motivations aren't solely to protect Annie but to keep her here at the casino for Finnick's sake?

And so Finnick holds up the poetry book that he had been holding even in Gantore Mantique's office. "I thought we could do some reading."

"I know." She says joyfully, her voice very hushed as they sit by the pool, blocked by the tent. "I wanted to ask you to come here when I saw you, but you were busy with Mr. Mantique."

He'd interrupted by knocking on the door, and he'd waited until Annie had been sent out before he'd moved into Mantique's office. She'd looked at him as she'd moved out of the office, hair still disheveled as if someone had hastily unbraided her knot and ran his fingers to him, but her eyes unsuspecting. Before she had a chance to smile at him, he'd stormed into the office.

In there, he'd joked and laughed and talked about everything in the world.

"I was busy. But I wanted to see you, Annie." He says simply, as if to explain everything. Why he came to find her, why he said nothing to her as he went into Mantique's office, and why he's come back to the enclosures now.

Now, Annie looks at him curiously, and he smiles. Then he says, "Smile for me," and she does. He watches her smile spread over that lovely face. Her eyes have always been wide and searching but now she blinks a little in the faint light, lashes casting shadowed strands on the white cheeks.

He tries to tell himself that even if Gantore Mantique had begged, she wouldn't have smiled for him.

Then Annie tugs his sleeve eagerly, reaching into the flap of the tent and drawing out something.

She looks at him with a child's expression—that expression of slight apprehension but anticipation at the same time. "This is for you."

"Annie," He says in surprise. "You have something for me?"

He thinks of what would have transpired, had he not distracted Mantique. He shudders at Annie's helplessness and her trust in people. But he cannot afford to show fear here—he focuses on her gift.

It's been wrapped in white paper but it must be food. Out of the tent, there is an obvious, crusty fragrance to it that he can't recognize at first. But his stomach knows enough to growl painfully, and he laughs weakly, patting his belly.

She looks at his middle with an inquisitive expression so much like Shelley's—before Shelley was taken away, of course.

"It's food, isn't it? Will you show me?" He asks teasingly, trying to shake off the memories. "Or do you want to wait until I've finished reading? Will it be fairer that way?"

"You mean, like a trade?" She says shyly.

"Like a trade." Finnick agrees, although he feels fear for a moment that Annie has learnt of what Finnick is doing here in this casino.

Annie hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head. "I'll show you now."

"Why?"

"Because this isn't a trade." She says slowly, thinking about it with a tiny wrinkle appearing between her eyes. "This is a present."

And when she unwraps the package to present a creamy-looking, slightly green loaf, he thinks that it is no wonder that awful longing sprang up in him.

"Did you bake this?" He gapes. Now that Finnick sees the source of the scent that he should have recognized as soon as he detected it, he is filled with memories and hunger. Hadn't Shelley been the one to present the bread to her siblings? Hadn't their father's last few pennies that he'd left them given them at least one good meal that they'd sat down to savour as a family?

And Finnick looks at Annie in wonder. "Did you bake this?"

Her confused nod tells him as much. "You don't like this?"

"No!" His efforts to speak in a low voice are in vain because of his emotion. "I always wanted it when I was back there— I didn't know—,"

"The oven got fixed." Annie says. "I found the ingredients." And then she looks away a little, becoming a little lost. "I remember how to bake this. Somehow."

"I'm glad that you do." He says. And he pulls a hunk off the loaf. Swiftly, almost as if he is afraid that she'll take it away, Finnick puts it into his mouth and chews.

The bread is fresh and lovely, and the slight saltiness spreads over his tongue tantalizingly. It is just as good as the time when they had to share that one loaf amongst the four of them—Tristan had been quiet for hours after he'd finished his portion. Joash and Shelley had bawled for hours when they'd had nothing left but the few measly fishes that Finnick had been left with, but the bread had satisfied them for at least those few minutes.

He looks at Annie, who is watching him. He swallows to find his voice. "It's wonderful."

"Good." She says simply, and then smiles of her own accord. "I'm glad."

It's a common food in District Four, and basically everyone knows how to bake it if they have the ingredients. Perhaps it is Finnick's hunger that makes the bread taste so wonderful, but it may just be his memories of a bread that he hasn't tasted in a long while or the surprise of having mad little Annie know how to make it still.

He can't stop himself from tearing another hunk of it. "Incredible." He shakes his head in disbelief—almost as if he's gone hungry for a very long time. And just when he thought he had tired of tasting!

"Do you really like this?" Annie says, a bit of a question in her eyes.

"I do!" He says eagerly and a bit thickly. He is ravenous for this, he realizes. He was peckish before, but now his hunger seems to grow with every bite.

She smiles a little. "Father likes this too."

"I'll bet he did." Finnick says. He tries to smile to reassure her, even if it requires a bit more force than he expected. Nobody has told her yet, and he prays that he won't have to be the one to do that. He takes another hunk and pops it into his mouth. He chews, swallowing greedily. "You bake very well, Annie. This bread is very, very good— better than what I've tasted back there, anyway. Who taught you?"

Annie tilts her head, watching him. "I can't remember now." She bites her lips a little. "A kelp-gatherer. We used to go to the tidal pools together." She blinks, trying to recollect the distant memories that have become blurred after her mental lapse. "I was no good at fishing, and she was to weak to go out to the sea. That's why we were always gathering kelp instead."

"I see." He says softly, regretting having mentioned District Four at all.

"Finnick?" Annie says, obviously keen to keep on the topic. "You gathered kelp too, didn't you?"

"Everyone in District Four does at some point," Finnick says easily. It fetches quite a bit of money if one can gather enough. Fishing is sometimes unpredictable, and kelp-gathering, while tedious, is guaranteed income in some ways. Kelp can feed horses and the protein from certain kinds of kelp go into the luxury hair products that the Capitol uses.

"Did you go fishing?" She whispers eagerly.

"Yeah—everybody did at some point, although I guess I went a little earlier. And seaweed gathering too." He looks at her. "I suppose you were too young to go out on the boats then and your father didn't let you." He smiles a little. "But there wasn't anybody to stop me from going when I was ten."

And suddenly, he finds himself saying, "I had a family back there."

Finnick isn't sure why he says that, or why he is speaking in a tense that suggests he doesn't have a family anymore. For that matter, he isn't sure why he's even telling Annie all this when it's bound to make her ask the questions that he can't or doesn't want to answer.

But she looks at him for a few seconds, almost as if she can see the very things that he remembers about District Four in his mind. Her voice is sad. "Where is Finnick's father?"

"Oh, my parents passed on very quickly." He runs a hand roughly through his hair, looking at the bread with a studied kind of interest. "That's why I could go out to sea so early." He doesn't say that's why he _had_ to go out to sea so early. "I was mostly referring to the siblings when I talked about the family I had." He focuses back on Annie, who's sitting very still and watching him with those large eyes. She looks pale now—she does understand what it means to pass on.

Quickly, Finnick moves to other topics. "You don't have siblings, Annie, but that's not a bad thing either." He laughs, although it is a bit weak. "They cry and quarrel all the time—if you were the eldest sibling, you'd be in charge." He fights the awful loneliness that wells up in him suddenly. "It's not nice to be a parent, even if it might be alright being a child." And he reaches to her head and pats it fondly.

Her eyes flicker shyly to his, and somehow, he forgets to chew. She gestures a little to his lips and he tilts his head, not understand her.

"Lips." Annie says quietly. "Lips. You were too hungry."

He pats his lips, but she shakes her head, and then moves a little closer to him, brushing the side of his mouth very carefully. There were crumbs, but he doesn't feel her cleaning his mouth as much as he feels her eyes concentrating on it. When she takes her hand away, he feels almost lost.

"Are you angry?" She says pitifully. "I hurt you yesterday." She looks to his knees.

"No," He whispers. "You didn't."

She brightens up. "I was afraid—,"

"You could never hurt me, Annie." He assures her. She looks hesitant still, and to comfort her, he takes her hand awkwardly in his, patting it once. "Thank you for the bread."

"Welcome." Annie says happily. "Finnick liked it."

He stares at her. Did she know how close she was to danger? The owner had shooed Annie off and pretended to continue doing the accounts, not even drinking what he'd ordered her to bring in. Finnick had then sat around as if he'd been wanting to see Mantique in the first place, joking and talking rubbish with Mantique.

Mantique hadn't noticed how Finnick's hands had been clenched.

If it's the last thing he does here, Finnick decides, he'll keep her safe from Mantique.

"Annie," He says slowly. "Can you bake seaweed bread if I want it in the future?"

She smiles, as though she is obliging a little boy, and he takes it as a positive answer. Almost relieved, he begins to chew again. He resumes eating, even as she watches him curiously.

He eats with an appetite that surprises him.

* * *

At some point, Finnick can't ignore Annie for what she has become.

Even if he wants to think of her as a child in the same way that he thought of Shelley, people are looking at her differently. Amongst the Avoxes, she is beautiful if one can spot her against the woodwork. Most don't actually recognize Annie Cresta from the Games for various reasons— she probably looks different from what they can remember and there wasn't much attention on the Games in her year or the Victor. It was one of those all-time low ratings.

By the time Annie's name had been drawn in the reaping, Finnick had been jaded and sophisticated, with a great deal of experience with the Capitol. He'd been nothing of a child; well-versed with lies and half-truths and how to please and how to wound with just his words without even having to reach for a knife or trident.

Of course he could blame it on Snow and the Capitol. He does that everyday, in his heart, in his cowardice, in his usual lies that he never had a choice. That's his way of keeping sane, even though he did have a choice. He exercised it once—it cost Shelley her life. He could exercise it again—why not sacrifice Tristan and Joash, who don't think of him as their eldest brother anymore?

But the truth is that Finnick had been good at knifing and gutting and all sorts of thievery even before the Games—what was there to really corrupt?

Annie though, has always been untainted. Even if he is only idealizing the fact that she's far too mad to be anything but innocent, it makes it easier for him to ignore how she is blooming and becoming noticeable to others.

The casino visitors do notice her. Later, Finnick will tell himself that it was the only reason why he began noticing and wanting her at all.

On this evening, he overhears some visitors.

"She isn't really an Avox, is she?"

"No idea. Last I recall, she's a Victor. Some years ago." They scratch their heads, trying to recall which year it was. She's not one of the famous ones—even Haymitch is more recognizable than her.

"Don't know why I didn't notice how pretty she is. Look at those eyes. And those lips." There is a leer that Finnick can see that he is suddenly enraged about. "Too bad. They must have taken out her tongue."

"She's a bit—," There's a pause. "A bit abnormal, yes? Is it infectious?"

"If it is, it's a pity." There is a sigh. "That girl would be good—,"

Finnick wants to hear more, but he can't. He wonders what they are talking about exactly. He is still seething. He looks around the place, excusing himself from the game table where a few pairs of hands grab at him and try to make him sit back down.

Annie's at the drinks counter, her back turned to Finnick. She is mixing things without another Avox watching out for her the way that happened in the early days.

But Finnick assures himself that the casino guests who want extra entertainment aside from cards and roulette are mostly here for Finnick. He tells himself that it will prevent them from looking at Annie for long. Besides, he chants to himself, most don't want to go near Avoxes, who are probably the worst kissers—they don't know that Annie, who's technically an Avox, still has her tongue.

But of late, it is even more difficult to ignore the changes in Annie and the pulsating emotions when he sees her. Even now, she is the sort of creature that has the capacity to love and care, even if she has locked herself somewhere; she actually cried when another Avox burnt himself doing something or the other one day. Finnick, who offered to fetch the burn-salves, had felt almost jealous.

It doesn't stop there. He wishes that it would.

* * *

It happens on another evening quite soon after he hears the visitors discussing Annie again.

He finds himself distracted while entertaining guests and joking and laughing about. Even when it is all over and the earliest hours of morning have passed, Finnick doesn't retire to his quarters for some sleep. Instead, he goes to the dolphin enclosure.

To be fair to himself, he isn't expecting her or the dolphins to be there. The dolphins have been transferred to another pool since this one will be renovated in a few weeks for more grandeur. For now, it's supposed to be entirely empty. That includes Annie, who would have probably moved to wherever the dolphins would have moved.

But she's there.

In the faint light of the rising sun, she lies by the edge of the pool in her pajamas, absorbing the last bit of warmth from the concrete tiles. She is deep in sleep, and she is muttering away as usual, without any sound leaving her lips. Why did she move out of her tent and sit here until she fell asleep?

He doesn't know, but when he looks at her, it's almost as if she wants to be washed away. He wishes that she could be—both of them, actually.

When he goes to sit by her at the pool, envying her, Finnick knows that it isn't the first time that he's felt more pathetic than she is.

Annie sleeps away, some of her hair wet from dipping into the pool, and her skin very, very white. It hasn't seen much sunlight and it looks almost like paper. It is beautiful in a way that Finnick doesn't expect, since everybody raves about his golden skin and uses bronzers in hope of looking like him.

He looks at her fingers and has to smile despite feeling slightly upset that there are the usual plasters there. She is still a bit clumsy. He wonders if it hurts her anew each time on those fingers that are so used to injuries.

And suddenly, for no good reason at all, he feels like touching her cheeks. He wonders if she'll mind, but decides that if he does it quietly enough, she won't wake. He's learnt enough about her to know that she's a deep sleeper for most part.

Gently, he touches her cheekbone with a fingertip, and he bends forward, smiling even though he doesn't realize it. Annie sleeps on, the faintest roses under her cheeks and her lips slightly parted as she breathes easily.

What he does next stuns him into waking up, getting away and then running back down to throw himself into the casino activities. All this, although she continues to sleep.

That night, Finnick thinks of her and it horrifies him to know that she can no longer be a child to him.

She plagues his mind even until morning comes, and even in his frustration and self-loathing, he can remember the faintest sweetness of her lips when he willingly brushed his own against hers and she responded to him even while deep in her dreams.

* * *

After some weeks of deliberation at length with himself, Finnick goes back to ignoring her.

He tells himself that he has to keep sane. Just because she's mad and she's helpless doesn't meant that he can start getting influenced by her. She's a silly child, Finnick tells himself. She seems to have recovered somewhat and knows her way around the casino these days, but that isn't because she understands. It's just repetition and training or something. Like training an animal.

He stops going to find her at the dolphin pool. She doesn't come to find him either, and she never seems to notice him when he lounges about in the casino. Despite himself, he feels slightly irritated but ignores her even more fiercely. Even if he doesn't have any modeling assignments, Finnick doesn't come back from the outskirts until it's evening. That's if he doesn't have a visiting patron. When he does, he handles it with his usual devil-may-care attitude, since it's easier to get things over and done with. When he doesn't, he disappears to his quarters as soon as he can, and leaves in the morning as soon as he can.

He does this for weeks at an end, until he realizes that he hasn't taken out that poetry book for nearly two months now. He has locked up the book that they once poured over, and he doesn't want to see it now. So he congratulates himself on his successfully staying sane.

Over the next whole month, he celebrates his twentieth birthday and entices patrons to give him incredible gifts and secrets. The Avoxes have a tough time arranging those and cleaning his quarters every two days for this month, but he doesn't really care as long as Annie isn't allowed into his quarters.

It isn't difficult to ignore her if Finnick tries hard. At least, he tells himself that. She seems to disappear as well—she is still good at hiding. She blends into the woodwork if he makes it a point to glaze his eyes over. The way she fit into his arms and responded to his kiss is something that he can forget. He tells himself that.

But on this evening, even Finnick's current patron has taken her eyes off him to look at the Avox that has knocked quietly and been admitted to Finnick's quarters to serve them drinks.

"Finnick, look—,"

Lying on his stomach with the sheets pulled over him, Finnick would rather sleep on. He is exhausted after hours of ploughing. But his patron is prodding him and forcing him to sit up.

"What?" He says wearily, moving a little. He remembers that Leitha Vermeer wanted drinks. In his bleary exhaustion, he'd told her that she could order some by making a call with that silly shell-shaped phone at the side of the bed. She must have done that. "Are the drinks here now?"

As he gets up slowly and turns around, he sees who has come into his quarters.

His eyes catch onto Annie's. She is looking steadily at Leitha Vermeer and not at him, but he skirts his gaze away, stunned as if someone has thrown him a punch. He tells himself that she doesn't understand. He tells himself that she doesn't know what kisses mean and what he is doing even now—that she won't think too badly of him.

But the Avox that has somehow come into the room makes him feel like he's the intruder.

She kneels there, at the foot of the large, four-poster bed, apparently allowed in by Finnick's patron. Finnick's quarters, as usual, are set in dim, sensuous tones with waves as murals and that sort of thing. The in-built system is still playing sultry, wordless tunes—tunes that he is bored to death of by now, but unable to change. It seems strange that Annie is in here.

Suddenly annoyed that his patron has let her in, Finnick turns to Vermeer. Is there no other Avox at this hour, he seethes? "Why's she here?"

"I was too lazy to get up and fetch the drinks from outside the door," She explains briefly. "I figured out that you can open the doors with this button." She gestures to the shell-device that functions to control temperature and other things within the quarters.

"Good for you." Finnick says, trying to keep the sourness out of his voice. He is supposed to be merry and happy like a goat, not sullen as a dead fish would be.

Vermeer is still staring at the Avox that has been allowed in. "Well, go ahead and pour."

As Annie sets out the drinks that his patron ordered with shaking hands, Vermeer continues to stare at the Avox who's been allowed in. Later, Finnick will try to tell himself that his patron's fascination with Annie was the only reason why he even looked at Annie at all. But for now, he looks at her, and it frightens him that he is looking at her with his patron's eyes.

Why has he never noticed her like this before? She isn't very tall, but she has outgrown the uniform. It won't cover the swelling of her curves for long, and because she is kneeling, he can see that the skirt is a little too short for her. He can see a hint of her thighs as she shifts a little on her knees, and as her fingers skim over the bottles, uncapping the glass, his own patron draws in a sigh. Annie's hair is glossy and thick as it falls over her shoulders, and he recalls what the casino guests said about her—what Vermeer must have also noticed about her youth and desirability.

"What a pretty thing she is," Vermeer murmurs appreciatively. Her eyes on Annie, she begins to stroke at Finnick's thighs beneath the sheet. He tries to hide his disgust, but he can't turn away for so many reasons. This patron and her exhibitionist tendencies are demeaning—that greediness on her face is horrifying. But her hand is soft and skilled against him, and helplessly, he looks at Annie, who doesn't seem to feel embarrassed or even aware of what she has walked into.

As Annie continues kneeling, pouring various things into glasses, he sees her lips trembling. Those are full and sweet, and Finnick is suddenly aware that if he were to part those, he would still find a soft, pink tongue behind. That is a secret that very few know of, but that secret feels like something that is solely his in this moment.

His patron is stroking him harder and Finnick fights back a cry.

Does Annie smell the perfumes in this room? Does she know what this woman is and what she is doing to Finnick while watching Annie? Does Annie understand what she might have been trapped in if she hadn't lost her mind? How much of her is sane even now?

And then Finnick shakes his head to snap himself out of it, pulling away his patron's damp hand with as much control as he can muster. He would have shoved it away, but that would have offended her. He flops back down onto the bed, not really caring and not wanting to see Vermeer look hungrily at Annie and lick her fingers and palm. The whole scene plays in his mind though, and it sickens Finnick utterly.

His words aren't directed to anyone in particular. "Get out."

He isn't sure who he is addressing—Annie, his patron, or both of them. Annie however, must be nervous at the dull tone he uses. Even though she has been quite good for the past weeks with barely any scrape that he's heard of, she suddenly drops something on the floor.

Even with the carpet, the tinkle of glass is heard.

The patron gasps but Annie is mute of course, and Finnick ignores them both. He was half-expecting it; he was willing her to mess up.

"Ask her to go." He tells Vermeer, glad that Annie will be sent out quickly now.

"But I'm thirsty," Vermeer pouts. She looks sexily at Finnick, still licking her fingers. "Do you have a better alternative?"

Finnick bites back his sudden flash of anger, realizing that Annie will stay in this room for even longer now. "Just tell her to finish up and go, and then we can get on with it."

From what he hears, Annie manages to stir something and there is the clink of glasses as she sets things down. A few minutes later, he hears something scrapping the carpet—maybe she carries a dustpan with her. She should, if she's this clumsy normally. And then she stands up—he can hear her shoes scuff the carpet.

He hears his patron murmur something and knows that Annie has come to her side of the bed and passed a drink to her.

"Some for you?" His patron says. "It's not bad."

"No." Finnick says flatly. And then he senses that Annie is bowing and then fleeing.

He can hear the door close again.

His patron has slid out of bed, taking a drink and sipping from it when she has come back to him. Her voice is husky from their activity, and she strokes his shoulders like he is a pet cat. The frond-like hangings cast seaweed shadows onto his back, for she is tracing wavy patterns down his flesh.

She pats his back. "Lie on your back, Finnick. I don't want the rear view."

He obeys numbly and stares at the ceiling of his four-poster. As Vermeer holds her drink and sips with one hand, her other brushes against him once more. She seems to derive her pleasure mostly from his, but that doesn't make Finnick triumphant but disgusted that he can feel lust with someone like this patron. She is a skilled lover, as much as he hates to admit it, and she makes frissons of sensation break under his skin.

She does so even now and once again. "She's a pretty little thing."

"She's mad." His voice is flat.

"Wait—," She stops her ministrations and looks suspiciously at her glass. "This casino has a mad Avox running around and serving drinks?"

Finnick tries not to roll his eyes. "The rest must be busy. That's why they got her to serve."

She panics. "Did she poison this?"

"She wouldn't have laced it with anything. She's normal, for most part." He pauses, wondering if he's under or oversold. He doesn't know—he's not a shrink. "But you saw it—she messes up all the time. And don't let anyone in when we're not done."

"Well now," his patron laughs, "Here I was, thinking that you'd never be embarrassed even if you were caught butt-naked." She reaches for him again. "In fact, I daresay you came quickly because you were excited that someone was watching. Embarrassment can be rather stimulating, no?"

A sharp remark comes to mind, but Finnick decides to play along, trying to drive the thoughts of Annie and her sudden appearance from his mind.

"Embarrassed?" He flings aside the sheets, revealing himself entirely and unabashedly to his patron. His voice is humid with confidence, and he gets into a position where he's sprawled out with one knee in the air, like the god that they say he is. The only thing that's missing is the bunch of grapes to be fed to him. "That isn't a word in my vocabulary."

As he expects, her breath catches and she admires him, slipping down to lie and to look at him.

"You weren't impressed by her?" Vermeer asks, sipping still. "I thought she was darling. What a lovely creature." She shrugs. "Even if she's a bit crazy."

"I thought I was the object of your affections?" Finnick says, looking pointedly at her. For some reason, he now wants to pander to her, even though she's given him all her secrets already. But she's been the only patron in two weeks, and she doesn't have that many alterations. Besides, she's quite amusing at times—she's an actress in pro-Capitol films and she speaks out as one of Snow's personal celebrity supporters. Also, she's good with accents. She can make him laugh honestly at times, even if she's plain depraved at most times.

"Jealous, are we?" She laughs delightedly. She kneels over him, pushes him to lie down and then impulsively pours the rest of the alcoholic drink on him in a bold, vertical line—from his lips to his thighs. A bit like a dog marking territory, he thinks snidely, except that the drink evaporates on his skin, leaving it cool.

He somehow thinks of the girl mixing it, a poor, mad girl who mumbles silently and doesn't know what she's doing. A girl who swam to her survival, a girl who belongs near the seas but now spends her days in a filthy place, looking at creatures that are just as trapped at her. A girl who is locked in her own mind, but knows enough to mix cocktails and to skirt her eyes away from his. Was it his imagination, or had she looked at him before skirting her eyes away?

His flesh is tingling and he bites back a groan. "Quick—,"

"Oh, do you want to go at it again?" She chuckles.

For some reason unknown to himself, Finnick turns to her, smiling and turning his charm on at full-blast. His words though, ring with irony. "Even if I didn't want to, I'd have to."

It is this night that he actually welcomes her fucking him even if he doesn't admit it to himself. He takes on his patron without a single thought of complaint, going on until the patron begs him to stop, satisfied and worn out even before Finnick is.

* * *

About a week later, Annie makes a mistake that gets Rok Luokei so angry that he demands that she pack and leave. He doesn't care that she's a former Victor, since she isn't a face of the casino unlike Finnick. He doesn't care that the animals are only comfortable with her when they are injured or ill. He doesn't care that she works for only food and shelter—he says that she doesn't deserve it.

Someone apparently mixed the wrong pipes leading from the enclosures with the ones from the drinkable water tanks. The unclean water got mixed into drinks and got served to about twenty people. Those who'd consumed the drinks had vomited for a whole night, and of course, it had to be Annie.

Annie stares blankly, even as the casino owner screams at her, frightened, pale, and stupefied with shock.

And it is Finnick, poltergeist of the place, mascot without being the master, who steps in front of her. Who would know that Leitha Vermeer's off-hand comment could be Annie's ticket to leaving this goddamned place?

"She has to go." He tells Rok, before the owner can inflict any violence on her. "She irritates me too."

And Rok, who has far more tolerance for Finnick than Annie, seems to become mollified at Finnick's own stand. What the owner doesn't know is that Finnick had snuck to the pools and switched the pipes' numbering. The customers had taken some salty water with whatever the dolphins had been contributing to it, and had mixed it into the tonic and gin. So it was that Annie and the other Avoxes had served it without anyone knowing.

It is for her own good, Finnick thinks. He tries to console himself as he passes by the Avoxes' quarters and see them helping her to pack. One is hugging Annie, and Annie is making crooning noises to comfort her.

It is good that she leaves, Finnick tells himself. It is right. Very soon, the owners will know that she can speak. What next? Finnick doesn't know, but his instincts tell him that she's better off away from the casino because she doesn't fit in with the Avoxes anymore. Not now—not when she's so clearheaded for so much of the time. The only other things left in the casino are filthy things.

At least, Mags will be waiting for her back in District Four, Finnick consoles himself. Also, the annual reaping is going to take place, and Mags will prevent Annie from seeing anything that will interrupt Annie's progress in re-learning how to speak.

But Finnick doesn't tell Mags why he is so eager to see Annie get out of the casino. He doesn't tell Mags anything more than Annie's major blooper—he doesn't tell Mags that he was the culprit. Mags would not approve.

Nor does he say in the letter that he thinks it is good that Annie is leaving. No, Finnick decides. He can't tell anyone that Mantique kissed her hands and then her lips and that she sat there woodenly, staring with those lost eyes at Mantique. It would be as good as admitting that he'd lived vicariously as Mantique for that few moments before he'd gathered up every last sane fiber in him to interrupt.

What Finnick has managed though, is good enough. Finnick can't do more than get Annie out of here. Talking about it is unthinkable. It is almost for his sake rather than Annie's that he wants her brought away from this casino.

She is so naïve and so child-like, so innocent that she wouldn't know any better. She is scheduled to leave in three days, but three days is enough for mischief to happen. He wants to keep an eye for her; what would Mags say if she was harmed under Finnick's nose? But there's a patron arriving tomorrow, and the devil has a thousand ways of whistling past the best-laid plans.

As far as Finnick can see, Gantore Mantique, the other owner, seems to be appearing more frequently in these evenings. Annie isn't safe until she leaves, and she isn't safe with that man around.

And Finnick wonders how to deal with it, since his patron has booked him for the third evening—the evening before Annie is sent off.

He tries to pays one Avox to rush to Finnick's room should anything happen. It's a silly plan, of course. But the Avox presses the money back into Finnick's hand and swears silently anyway.

Some things, Finnick realizes, can't be bought.

And on the morning that Finnick decides that he has succeeded in keeping Annie safe for Mags, he decides to go for a morning swim. This is the first time that he's done so in a long while, and it's fortunate that his patron left late in the night for him to enjoy his morning alone.

But when he gets to the dolphin enclosure, he hears a song.

He stands there, listening as he did, two years ago, listening to Annie sing. She sings, and the dolphins are quiet for once. They are all listening.

"Should you go," She sings, "I'll go too."

There is no more gibberish. He half-misses it. The words are unreal to him, those words about the sea and a lost love and whatever that she's singing about. Someone gave her those words—someone puts those words there for her. Mags perhaps, those years ago.

But now, he thinks painfully, Annie will be free to speak her words and to find new ones.

He is numb, standing there and listening.

He would rather hear her gibberish. The gibberish makes more sense in his mind.

And when she stops and looks around at where he is standing behind a pillar, something breaks in him. He steps out, waits for her to come to him delightedly, and this time, he hugs her tightly, wanting her so badly that it is all he can do not to hurt her. He isn't protecting her from Mantique as much as himself, Finnick realizes. No matter how he lies and plots, he's really the one that Annie should avoid. He ruins things—he is sure of that.

"I thought you were angry with me." Annie murmurs.

"Not anymore." He lies. He never was.

"Will you come visit me?" She says quietly.

He asks, "Do you want me to?"

"Yes." Annie says without hesitation. "I'll bake for you again."

"Then I will." He lies again. He plans to send her away to a place that he will never return to.

He never gets to swim that morning, and he never gets to see her off because he lets go of her first and says that he must return to his quarters. In his quarters, he takes a shower, disgusted at how his will was swayed and how easily he feels like weeping when he thinks of Annie.

When she leaves on a hovercraft to District Four, he is stuck back at the casino, his hands on somebody that he actually doesn't have to fuck for once but feels like doing. Throughout it, his mind is on something entirely different. He is memorizing the song with its gibberish.

It may drive him to insanity, but he will welcome it. Better a song than a warm, trusting Annie that doesn't know any better than to look at him with kindness.

* * *

The days go on and he sometimes gets word from Mags or visits from other Mentors. He hears that Annie, although she is still a little mad, can speak now.

She sings, of course. Beautifully. Mags says that she lapses into nonsense at times, and that she bites her hands when she's scared, but overall, she's safe and she has recovered so well that she seems almost normal.

Finnick finds himself very, very pleased. First, he congratulates the dolphins for having such healthy bowels, and he insists on helping out with chores with the Avoxes who looked out for Annie—even when they get on their knees and beg him not to.

Next, he congratulates himself for having stopped the insanity before it took control of him. He is filled with wild, mad joy. It is as if a part of him has been redeemed; transfigured into a part of the child that has managed to escape back to District Four. There is Mags there, even if she has nobody from her family left. Mags is as good as a whole family. He has done Annie a favour.

Finnick doesn't even mind so much when there is a sudden influx of patrons on a certain month. He does his services cheerfully, takes the secrets, makes the marks on the closet with a vicious glee, and unlocks the poetry book to read those poems when he has a spare moment. He can recite Marrysong backwards in his mind.

He recites a whole slew of poems to one patron one day, as practice for the future. Future what? He doesn't know. But he sees a future where he might possibly go away from this place and not have to return. His patron is very impressed and pays him handsomely.

Marrysong however, is one poem that he doesn't recite. He can't bring himself to.

And over this month, Finnick prepares to make a visit back to District Four. This year, he won't be called back to mentor, nor will Mags, and he can make time. He has plans despite the promise he made to himself to leave Annie in a place where she is safe—he ignores the ongoing Games, collects his things, and unlocks that book that has become precious to him.

He makes plans and buys a ticket.

He tells himself on the train that the excitement pounding in his veins comes from going back to see District Four—it isn't anything more than that. Or it's the food and the slightly alcoholic chocolate-dipped berries he had for dessert, he tells himself.

He tells himself that he's visiting to see his old house. Perhaps, he'll live in Victor's village if he feels like it. If, and only if he has time, Finnick tells himself, he will visit Mags. And if for some reason, he has any more time left, he might go to see Annie perhaps.

And this time, Finnick is sure that Annie will not affect him the way she was beginning to. The lapse of time, he thinks, will have cooled off anything that he felt. No protectiveness, no jealousy, no fear—nothing of that sort anymore. She will be nothing more than a Shelley replacement, he tells himself, and Mags will not know of Finnick's momentary loss of control.

And for that period of time, Finnick is so sure that he has recovered from his madness too.


End file.
